Volatile
by AnonRecon
Summary: A year after joining Overwatch, Lucio finds himself dealing with his first public menace. A mall shoot-out gone wrong leaves him beaten, burned but, odly, proud. For his first SERIOUS mission, he didn't feel too bad.
1. The Funk

_AN- So, yeah, I found this pairing and kinda liked it, but was very disappointed in the fan fiction community. Nothing I could find really impressed me. That said, if you know a good story for this pairing, please share it with me. For now, here's my own go at it. Keep in mind that I am not the best at romance, but I will try. Bare with me. Also, forgive me if this chapter seems a bit rushed. There were a lot of ideas I wanted to get out in the first chapter without making it too lengthy._

* * *

It was an organization like no other... When it came to 'military,' Overwatch was a massive step above the standard and one that operated considerably well in spite of the diverse personalities in its employ. As a matter of fact, the diversity was the unit's greatest PR asset; however, aside from protesters wanting to keep Overwatch in retirement in the wake of the Omnic Crisis, internal conflict was still a present issue above others. One of the best examples of this was with Blackwatch's newest recruit, Hanzo Shimada. The archer was as cynical and disapproving as he could be. Symmetra wasn't a great deal better. In fact, very few of Overwatch's members were actually pleasant to be around.

Lucio was happy to be considered one of those few. It wasn't something he prided himself in, but rather something he was happy to be. Positivity was an aspect many more people needed, especially with so much hatred in the world as of late. Billboards, public service announcements, and even television shows were littered with underhanded jabs at the expense of a people only looking for rights on the grounds that they possessed sentience. Lucio himself understood completely and agreed with the movement. If they were capable of emotion and free thought, then they should have rights; however, many of his teammates didn't share this opinion, making Lucio one of the minority. He wouldn't openly argue with anyone over it, though, even if one were to make a rather venomous remark. Opinions were opinions and the line between right and wrong was a blurred one because of them. For some, it was understandable in the very least. Zaria's home of Russia had been campaigning against the machines for years, meaning she would've been brought-up on the propaganda, knowing no better. This case was, again, understandable, but still felt wrong.

Over the span of a year, Lucio had gotten in comfortably with Overwatch and was working happily with just about everyone, in spite of many of their differences. He'd also made a few friends. Lena, usually going by the title 'tracer,' was always fun to be around. Sure, keeping up with her was an impossible challenge, but she was funny and her optimistic outlook made Lucio feel like he wasn't alone. Hana was great, as well, being an Internet celebrity who also was a fan of his. She had an energy about her that he borderline adored and her competitive spirit was fantastic. Lucio would be lying if he said he didn't use to have a crush on her. Bonds were important to the team, he knew. Friends worked best together and strong friendships meant a stronger team. Though not everyone in the Overwatch liked one another, those who seemed to work best together were close enough to do well.

Lucio sat up in the booth aboard Overwatch's transport vessel, a massive freighter-like ship. The inside was roomy enough to take whoever it needed to places both local and far out of reach. It was clean, practical, and had a few luxuries for the benefit of those aboard, not to mention it was piloted by Winston's state-of-the-art artificial intelligence, Athena; however, the ship was a little sluggish, meaning that it took a while to get from place to place. That made Athena's tactical predictions a godsend. She hadn't been wrong yet. Lucio had opted to curl up in the corner booth and nap for the majority of the trip to Numbani where there had been some desturbances as of late, many of which prompting a temporary stationing of Overwatch agents on the grounds. Winston had carefully chosen Lucio, Genji, Zinyatta, and Tracer to stay in the city and keep an eye on things.

When the Brazilian awoke, he glanced about the hold of the ship, finding Zinyatta and Genji sitting side-by-side in the center of the floor, both resting in meditation. Lena was sitting in front of the basketball hoop making free throws. She'd make each basket, allow the ball to roll back to her, then throw again. Having her be the kind of person she was, she probably hadn't been doing it long.

With a quiet yawn, Lucio sat up the rest of the way and looked at Lena. "How far out are we?" he asked. She caught the ball with both of her hands and looked at him with a smile.

"Five minutes." That was a relief. He didn't think he could stand waiting any longer than half an hour, having already waited around two full hours before falling asleep.

* * *

Lucio hated missing his concert in Numbani. Little mattered more to him than his music, but being a freedom fighter was one of those exceptions. As he exited the ship on the outskirts of the city, he could see a flood of faces light up with both surprise and excitement, perhaps at seeing him, but perhaps at seeing the arrival of an Overwatch unit. Two people came directly from the crowed outside the airport and approached them, one a native of Numbani in a crisp, black suit and tie, the other an Omnic that looked much like Zenyatta, but wearing a long, emerald green robe.

"Greetings, agents," said the human. "I am Msedu Oban, a councilman for Numbani and this is Kashikoi, my personal adviser." The Omnic bowed.

"Welcome, Overwatch. We are thrilled to meet you." Lena stepped forward, giving a little salute with a broad, friendly smile.

"Glad t' be 'ere, gents. What seems t' be the problem?" Msedu and Kashikoi looked at one another, one expecting the other to say something. Eventually, Msedu made a gesture towards Kashikoi that prompted the advisor to speak.

"Well, we believe our citizens are in great danger and they seem to realize, as well. For the past month, we have had a string of violent attacks that have nearly leveled buildings, destroyed streets, and left our people fearful of their lives. Our police have been unable to capture those responsible so we turn to you as a last resort. They possess a powerful amount of weaponry and we fear any further confrontation will result in more death and destruction than we can handle without evacuating a large portion of the city."

"Could it be Talon?" asked Zenyatta.

"Perhaps. I would not dismiss the idea. Do you think you could help us be rid of them soon?"

"You can count on us, love!" Lena beamed dutifully. "Where would you 'ave us be?" Msedu turned with a wide, sweeping gesture.

"Come with us. We'll show you the damage."

* * *

An entire street lay upturned with asphalt chunks thrown about deep gashes in the ground. Scorch marks were everywhere, on buildings, sidewalks and inside the ruined shells of businesses that had windows and doors ripped clean off or bashed in. The area was completely empty save for their group. "Why have you not dispatched repair teams?" asked Genji as he glanced around the ravaged scene.

Msedu sighed. "Until those responsible are caught, there's no point."

"You believe they will attack the same place twice?"

"We aren't sure," said Kashikoi, "But we will not put in the resources until we needn't worry about the possibility." Lucio listed to them talk in silence, taking in the images around him with a sickened feeling. The amount of actual damage was incredible considering that these places didn't look like Talon targets. He saw a jewelry store, a coffee shop, a small hotel and a bank, not to mention the bodies of police drones thrown everywhere. Talon didn't need money, so this might've been but a scare tactic, if not a group of well-armed criminals.

"Do you have any witnesses?" Lucio finally asked. Kashikoi gave a single nod.

"We have a few police officers who saw one of the assaults. We will let you talk to them shortly." The DJ nodded and resumed his previous silence. Msedu and Kashikoi led the group out of the damaged zone and into a rather normal area of the city. Unlike before, the streets were well alive and flowing like a city's should be. Things seemed as normal as they could be with crowds huddled together on the sidewalks for as far as the eye could see, only parting to allow their group through with curious eyes. Lucio would smile and wave to the citizens if only to make their presence seem more comfortable as a few faces looked grave, but his efforts were in vein.

Eventually, they made it to the front of one of Numbani's massive skyscrapers. Windows lined every face of the curving structure, making its rising spire appear crystalline. A holo-sign floated out front over a slim, lit-up fountain of green and blue orbs. The larger letters on the sign read 'Lotus Hotel' while the two lines under it were written in other languages, presumably Spanish and another secondary language spoken in Nigeria. The foyer was illuminated in rich golds and gentle, spring greens with small accents of light pink here and there. The ceiling was high with grand, golden arches leading towards the elevators and a sitting area off to the left of the doors. Centered in the foyer was a dark, wooden desk with the hotel's name printed on it in silver. The receptionist was a women in her late thirties or early forties, but on the better end of the appearance scale. It helped that she wore her makeup modestly and the hotel uniforms weren't gawdy.

Msedu approached her with a wide smile. "Hello, again. These are the Overwatch agents staying with us for a little while. May we have the room keys, please?"

"Of course, sir. One moment." The receptionist disappeared behind a wall of cubbies for a few minutes before returning with a clutch of four keys.

"All of your rooms are on the second floor for obvious reasons. The Lotus Hotel is one of the best in Numbani and we hope it will suit you and then some." Msedu took the keys and handed them to each of the agents.

"I am sure they will be fine. Thank you, Councilor Oban," said Genji. The Councilor gave a considerate nod before he and Kashikoi turned and left.

Lucio's room was decent if the rooms he was used to staying in were anything to go by. He wasn't complaining, however. Great hotel rooms were just that, but he didn't mind having a normal one. A room was a room. As long as it was comfortable and clean, he was happy. Of course, a 'normal' room for the Lotus Hotel was wonderful. Done in the normal colors of the building, the room was large enough to fit a standard dresser, a queen-sized bed with silk and satin bedding woven into flowing, floral-like designs, and two bedside tables with modern grav-lamps while having room to spare. Lucio threw himself onto the bed and stretched himself out to cover most of the mattress. He groaned as his muscles tensed and joints cracked before exhaling into a state of limp relaxation. Though allowing himself to drift into thoughtlessness for a few minutes, work came to the forefront of his mind and he found himself thinking on the reason that Overwatch was in Numbani.

The damage to the storefronts was perplexing, to say the least. Talon may have been a terrorist organization, but randomly tearing a small, miniscule fraction of Numbani violently apart didn't fit them. Talon attacked military sites, government properties- a bank arguably being that- and industry buildings where armaments and new technologies were being produced. These targets would have a large impact on societies as a whole and would induce fear on both a shock level and a morbid dread level as the people within became uncertain of their future. No, whatever was happening in Numbani wasn't Talon, but a concern of Overwatch, nonetheless. Whoever these people were, they were dangerous and their motive was purely monetary judging by the targets. ' _A Jewelry store, a bank, normal businesses... Scorch marks and craters... These are thieves with serious firepower._ ' Lucio thought with a scowl. ' _Bullies that grew past hornets and spitballs._ ' With another groan and a sigh as he loosened his tensed muscles, the DJ rolled onto his side and opted for a short nap.

* * *

A ray of amber light tore into his dreamless sleep and forced Lucio's eyes ajar. He'd fallen asleep facing his window and had left the curtains tied back. As a result, a street lamp in the alley outside his room cast a puke-hued glow through the glass. The Brazilian sat up with a growl and threw himself onto his other side. He hadn't intended to sleep as long as he did, but, if he didn't need to get up, he wasn't going to. Lucio was energetic, sure, but he didn't conjure his energy from another dimension. He needed sleep- loved sleep, in fact.

A frantic knock on his door prevented him from getting any more, however. "Lucio! Get up! They've been spotted! They're close! Come on!" Lena's voice called through the door.

"They- Where?"

"Just a few blocks away! Hurry up! We got some cruisers outside!" With only a moment of sluggish hesitation, the Brazilian was on his feet and rushing for the box next to the dresser which he'd carried in with him. The box was a solid, industrial grey with a single, glowing green button on top. It was a small box that reached just below his knees. Lucio pressed the button and the two sides of the box spit open, producing a mechanical arm with what looked like armor plating massed together in its grasp. Once set down, the plates separated, forming a pair of large, armored legs. These were of his standard arsinal. They allowed him more mobility, protection, and stopped him from over-exerting himself in the midst of battle. The back of the armor snapped open to allow Lucio entry. Once suited and equipped with his sonic amplifier, a weapon he'd stolen many years prior, he burst from his room and leaped right for the staircase. He shoved open the metal door and hopped right onto the wall. His skates stuck him to the surface like magnets and Lucio found himself sliding down the shaft towards the bottom floor faster than any elevator could take him. When he reached the bottom, Lena and Genji were waiting in the foyer with Zenyatta close behind. They wasted no time getting through the doors and into the back of the two waiting police cruisers, Lucio and Zenyatta hopping into one and Lena and Genji into the other.

As soon as the car pulled away from the curb, the officer in the passenger seat turned back towards the agents. He was a middle-aged man with short blonde hair slightly hidden under his uniform hat. He was a husky man, but not too much so that it might affect his work. "A couple of guys were spotted downtown matching the descriptions witnesses gave us. We shadowed them for a little bit and watched them park their vehicle outside the mall, specifically near an electronics storstore that's been getting some pretty good business since it opened a few weeks ago. We're certain that this is their target."

"What makes you so sure?" asked Zenyatta.

"They also target places with prominent Omnic employees, managers, or owners. This store is both owned and operated by a staff consisting mostly of omnics. That coupled with the high income is a sure shot." As though considering something intently, Zenyatta sat in thought, even including some audible 'hmm's and a scratch of his metallic chin.

"They target high-income businesses with omnics in their employ... They are heavily-armed thieves who want to both optain large sums of currency while also sending a message of negativity towards omnics... Curious. What do you think?" He looked to Lucio, smoothly motioning towards him with a single hand. Each movement Zenyatta made was like flowing water, even in the most stressful situations. Lucio couldn't say the same. He stammered for a moment in an attempt to collect his thoughts before what he wanted to say finally came out.

"They aren't Talon." It was simple, as responses went, but the Omnic's own vast vocabulary and ability to convey his thoughts at length didn't bring him to antagonize the less opulent responses.

"Yes, I suspected that. They are only ill-willed criminals. We must put a stop to their misconduct, nonetheless. Overwatch's duty is to the people, no matter if it is Talon that threatens them or a simple band of trouble-makers." As much as he agreed, Lucio couldn't help but feel that he was the last one across the finish line with a participation trophy just for being involved. Zenyatta made it sound like his conclusion was an obvious one.

The cruisers weaved through the labyrinthine streets of Numbani on which other vehicles jerked to the curbs to allow them through. Then, with two blocks left to go, the cruisers pulled off onto a side-street into a small apartment complex. The buildings were boxed together on four small lots with sparse vegetation made only to stop the area from looking _completely_ out of place in comparison to the rest of downtown Numbani, but it was a surreal visual, either way.

"Transport ends here. Go one block over on Ivory until you see the Iyabo Admission building. Sergeant Kahza will meet you in the lobby and explain whatever idea he's cooked up. Good luck." Both Lucio and Zenyatta nodded with passing remarks towards the officers, meeting Lena and Genji across the lot. Lena was teetering on her heels, obviously itching to get moving.

"They tell you where to go?" Asked the DJ. Tracer nodded.

"Yup! Let's get moving." Lena zipped off down the street towards Ivory. Without hesitation, the rest of them bolted after her- Zenyatta seeming to leisurely float along, rather, but at a pace much quicker than his norm. The streets were just as empty as the destroyed block farther downtown minus the damage. Lights were off, apartments were quiet, and the city seemed silent as though holding its breath. It sent a slight shiver down Lucio's spine.

It was surreal, in a way, seeing this section of Numbani almost completely blacked out while lights in the distance shone like the crystalline stars that would've glittered overhead if the unnatural lighting of the city didn't out glare them. It felt like being in an isolation zone. Not even the automated holo-signs were on to advertise upcoming events, lawyers or soda brands every five feet. It didn't feel like Numbani.

Soon enough, the three agents caught sight of Lena who waved to them from the front walk of a building that was actually lit-up. The walk was a short yard of lush, green grass cut through by a span of even stones. The building twisted upwards a few stories short of the Lotus Hotel but more opulently in a swooping design. The holo-sign out front read 'Iyabo Admissions and Checking' in bright, amber neon. Tracer zipped through the glass revolving doors being followed by the other three. Unlike its modern exterior architecture, the inside of the building was dark and warm. The floor was covered by a deep, red carpet and Its walls were of an earth tone marble. Most of the building's fine details weren't visible, however, due to the overwhelming number of SWAT enforcers filling the lobby. The sheer volume of the masses was overwhelming, but Lucio wasn't surprised. As far as many of them knew, Talon was the suspected threat they were facing. The Brazilian managed to grab a passing enforcer by his black, woven sleeve.

"Overwatch sent to see Sergeant Kahza." The enforcer turned wordlessly to a heavy, wooden door tucked away in a corner behind the front desk and pointed to it before shuffling off in a hurry. The agents approached it together, but Lena grabbed the handle first, pressing her shoulder to the door before giving it a stern, but not too heavy handed, knock. From the other side came a deep, croak of a voice, one obviously aged and irritated for whatever reason.

"What is it?" it barked.

"Sergeant Kahza?" asked Tracer.

"Who's asking?"

"Lena Oxton a' Overwatch. We're going t' be an attachment for your operation an' were sent to see ya, sir." There was a long pause before the door was pulled open. The agents were met by an older gentleman who was an obvious native of Numbani by appearance and accent. His hair, becoming abundantly white, was shaved down close to his scalp and his eyes, both a deep brown, bore the badges of years in their bags. Wrinkles were placed sparsely about his features, but his stance was strong and his determined expression indicated that he had some many more years of fighting ahead of him. Lucio didn't think the man transparent, but he was very readable and the Brazilian saw the kind of man he often respected, though less often agreed with method wise. "Sergeant Kahza?"

"Yes. Come in. I'll brief you." Kahza turned and beckoned them in with two fingers. The agents followed him inside were a desk had been shoved to the center of the room and covered with a holo-map of what Lucio assumed was the mall mentioned previously. A floating blip was placed on the wall of a shop towards the east end. That must've been the store. "Agents," began Kahza, "I assume you were told SOMETHING of the situation?" They all nodded. "Good. I'm sure Counselor Oban showed you the damage left by these low-lives downtown and I'm sure you realize the danger they pose for Numbani. No fatalities have happened yet in connection to them, but serious injuries are being treated and three officers of the Numbani police force might not make it a week. We will not stand for anymore destruction. This is our plan..." Kahza pointed to a store a little down the way from the one in question. "We need two units to enter from this end and hide themselves in the store itself. You will be Team A. Your job will be to keep damage at a minimum and drive the criminals towards Team B who will be waiting here." He moved his finger across the parking lot and to what looked like a small row of shops across a hill separating the businesses from the mall itself. "Team B's job will be to intercept in an area where the damage will be reduced and much cheaper to repair if any should occur, which, at this point, knowing their 'run-and-gun' method, is inevitable. My men, along with police drones, will be stationed along the rout we want them to take to ensure that they go where we need them to be. Team A will need to be precise and Team B will need to be fast and I informed your superiors of this. Did they choose correctly?"

"Sure, did, love! Lucio an' I will be Team B. Genji n' Zenyatta will be Team A. We won't let those blokes get away!"

Kahza nodded sternly. "Good. We mobilize immediately."

* * *

The mall was lit up and as alive as one would expect it to usually be. From across a grassy knoll, Lucio could see the rows of cars parked outside and the lights from the complex shining brightly in the early night. Street lamps lined the parking lot and illuminated a number of vehicles and a few people entering and exiting the mall... All except the east end. The east end was empty and dark. Having the mall open was what Kahza called a 'calculated risk.' He needed the perpetrators to believe that everything was just slightly normal, giving them a sense of comfort that allowed them to enact their own plans. Lena waited with him and watched intently as Genji and Zenyatta could be faintly seen entering a clothing store not far off, both appearing casual in spite of the stares they drew. Soon enough, they had vanished inside and the pins and needles fully set in. The pressure and thickness of air was almost palpable in the silence and stillness. Cars passed on streets nearby, people walked upon the sidewalks, voices rose above the night air from outdoor seating at restaurants. It was far too calm considering the situation at hand, but the rest of the world was oblivious. If the methods of these criminals were to be completely believed, they would soon know and would soon be feeling the intensity and fear that crawled up Lucio's spine at that very moment.

Fear was never not a factor. Fear would always exist, no matter the frequency of these occurrences or if he was assigned to the detail or not. People were in danger, be it him or innocent people who didn't ask for it. Those thoughts shook him. They shook him enough to make him jump when Kahza's whispering, gravely voice broke over the com. channel right into his left ear. "Targets spotted half a click from location. Target confirmation positive. You'll know 'em when you seen 'em. Await arrival." Lucio took deep breaths, loud ones. He balled his hands into tight fists before releasing them in time with his breathing and sometimes swallowed in-between actions. Lena appeared more calm in comparison, only staring and twitching her fingers every few minutes. She was the model of readiness. Both agents waited and waited... Waited for what seemed like an agonizing eternity. It was like the last few moments before the final bell rang on the last day of one's senior year of high-school. The minutes, though they ticked by steadily on any other day, slowed to a minuscule crawl for that very moment. All eyes were on the clock, on the second hand as it ticked to each tally, drawing nearer and nearer to the minute when all the pressure would burst. Kahza came back over the radio.

"Targets have parked their vehicle behind the east-end. Entering from the staff door. Team A, be ready to push them back." Lucio couldn't see them, but he knew they were there. That scared him even more. He wanted to know what to expect, what he was facing around that corner when the plan went off the way it was suppose to, but that comfort, as slight as it could've been, was denied him. It left his heart snatching for any shred of stability in his chest. It was threatening to pound his insides to a slushy pulp. More waiting... Long... endless moments... Horrifying moments...Moments of uncertainty... In those moments, he listened more intently than he ever had. He could hear the subtle breeze rustling through the bushes. He could hear crickets chirping together in a soft song. He could hear a conversation drifting in from a balcony nearby. It wasn't exactly appropriate.

Then, there came a low, ground-shaking rumble. "Contact! Contact! Targets fleeing! Team B prepare for interception!" Lucio's muscles stiffened as he readied himself. He and Lena took similar stances as they waited for their que. "Targets rounding the east end! Be ready on the turn!" Team B was placed on a turn near the east end of mall. If the Numbani SWAT did what they were suppose to, the targets would have to round it and, as it was a sharp curve, they'd be forced to slow down considerably. If all went accordingly, the decrease would be enough for Tracer and Lucio to catch up and stop them in their tracks while keeping damage at a minimum.

From the back lot, another rumble snagged the DJ's ear, one at a constant that would raise in aggression before spitting and starting the cycle again. It was a motorbike and one seeming to be struggling. His fingers gripped the turf in anticipation. Finally, the vehicle rounded the corner. Even from the distance, Lucio could make out a few, simple details such as the driver being on the heavier side and the passenger in the beaten side-car a solid two-hundred pounds lighter, give-or-take. Each time the sputtering motorbike tried to detour through a section of the parking lot before the turn, a stream of gunfire would shatter against the ground, pushing it back on the right track. The Numbani police force didn't, of course, want to kill them just yet. So far, they were but thieves and vandals. Albeit, armed thieves and vandals, but a peaceful resolution with the possibility of interrogation was preferable. With Overwatch agents on sight, it was more possible. Then the bike began to round the turn. Lucio went stiff, his body not entirely registering when the que came through and when Lena dashed off down the knoll. She was half way to the interception point when he came to his senses and bolted after her.

"I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up," he mumbled to himself, a painful cringe engulfing his features. He slid down the hill and skidded against the curb as Lena placed an emp mine against the tank of the bike as planned and zipped away. Lucio, however, was not where he was suppose to be and found himself in range as a sphere of pressure erupted and sent both he and the perpetrators flying and skidding across the asphalt. The bike dropped from it's hover and tumbled over Lucio whose skates were locked up by the emp. Metal, paint, and a large array of other things, including the driver and passenger, came down with their vehicle and Lucio saw the smaller one rolling across the ground before him. He was quick to his feet, however, and merely gave the DJ a passing glance as he and his larger friend bolted for the parking lot. Both of them were surprisingly slow, but fast enough to find cover between two cars before the SWAT personnel pinned them down. Without his skates, Lucio was unable to give much aide until his armor re-booted and simply got to his feet as Lena zipped to his side.

"What 'appened?" she asked, obviously perplexed. Lucio's face now portrayed his sheer disappointment in himself and, with a sigh, he responded.

"I... I guess I was nervous..."

Tracer responded with a sigh of her own. "I just- People are in danger, love! We gotta fix this!" She opened her communicator. "Genji, Zenyatta, we gotta problem. Things didn't work out quite right..."

"What happened?" Genji's voice broke through the channel. Lena would've answered, but the explosion that tore clean across the lot large enough for anyone to see spoke for her. "Ah... We must work quickly. Civilians are in danger. I will try to distract them." Lucio looked over the vehicles to see a steady flow of round explosives rolling in different directions before detonating and tearing up sections of asphalt. Vehicles that were caught in the crossfire went up in balls of flames. Finally, Lucio felt his armor power up, an event that Lena noticed and she smirked.

"I call the big one!" she yipped and ported off towards their cover. Lucio took a deep breath and skated off after her. The brit vaulted over the cars and landed in front of the two criminals. Lucio saw their forms stiffen through the windows of the first car and adjust their position to aim at her. Before anything left the barrels of their weapons, however, Lena shot off behind them and managed to snatch a weapon from the bigger one. She ported off into the parking lot behind a new set of cars. The larger sat dumbfounded for a moment before hunkering down, albeit poorly, and crawling after her while attempting to keep his head down. His partner hunkered himself down even lower, drawing back his weapon. Lucio managed to catch his figure lying flat on his stomach from under one of the cars. Lucio switched to the SWAT channel on his communicator.

"Don't shoot either of them unless we say so. I think we can get them."

"We would have already had you not choked, boy! You got five minutes to make SOME progress before I deck them for good!" barked Kahza. Lucio didn't hold the harshness against him as it was perfectly justified, but he stiffened obviously from annoyance, his strides becoming more like stomps and jerks than his usual, calm glides. The Brazilian reached the first car and wasted no time skidding across the hood and into the space between it and the second. He and the criminal locked eyes in seconds. The other's were striking and bright, like a volatile wild-fire. Just seeing them stopped Lucio dead in his tracks with a freezing chill that rolled down his spine. It made him feel sick. Lucky for him, the criminal seemed just as stunned as he was and sat there for a good minute staring right back at him. In that single moment, Lucio swore he'd seen enough of that thin, sharp face to remember it forever. The criminal snapped out of the daze first, however, and flopped onto his back, kicking out with a booted, left foot. The sole hit the DJ square in the chest and slammed him against the ground with a dull thump. Before he could even register what had happened, the man had shoved past him in the direction his friend had gone. Lucio managed to get to his feet and skate after him. He caught up quickly, however, the criminal being impeded by what looked like a missing leg, replaced by a crude, pegged alternative that served him little good in a foot-race on top of the fact that he kept himself ducked down behind vehicles, only really MOVING to shuffle between rows. Lucio realized too late that he wasn't running from _him_... There was a horrible, metallic crack and Lucio was thrown forward, face-first into the pavement. Looking back, he stared in total disbelief at that fact that the right foot of his armor was caught in... a trap... A bear trap... That wasn't the realization, though. The realization came when he saw the grubby, disk-like object lain next to it, a stitched smiley-face painted haphazardly atop a pressure plate adorning the dome. Lucio managed to looked up at the other for but a moment simply to see his sick, gleeful grin as he held a small device in his robotic hand. The man was trying to clear the blast radius...

Not a second later and a powerful force sent him toppling forward, flipping numerous times through the air before he came crashing down on the roof of a car. He landed with a crash. White-hot burning seared up his back, shins and calves, but, looking down at them, his legs seemed to be intact; in total agony, but, nevertheless, intact. The armor had taken most of the damage and was left in bits of scrap scattered all over the lot. Blurred swirls fringed at the edges of his vision as he attempted to roll onto his stomach, but fell from the car onto the ground with another painful thud. He looked forward and saw the hazy figure of the criminal ducking further and further away, soon becoming almost indistinguishable from any other shape around him. Then, a voice that seemed to be screaming burst into his ear. "He got the bike back!" It took the Brazilian far too long to figure out it was Lena. Not soon after, he heard the same, sputtering and spitting from earlier far to his right and growing weaker and weaker.

Figures began to sharpen, again.

"That is just one of them," said Zenyatta.

The feeling in his entire body returned with force and he slowly got to his feet.

"Where is the other one?"

Lucio's eyes remained fixed on a single thing as he staggered across the lot: A dumbfounded expression both confused and almost betrayed, but emotions masked under a glint of disbelief.

"Tracer, where is he?" It was Genji.

He slunk around the side of a group of cars as the messy, blond head peaked out from under a mini-van. The shoulders twisted out, metal hand grasping a weapon as its owner slid between vehicles on his stomach.

"I dunno! Snipers got eyes on 'im?"

"No, ma'am," came an unfamiliar voice.

"You lost them both?" Yelled Kahza. Lucio pressed a finger to the transmitter in his ear, a single, raspy whisper breaking into a short respite between exchanged shouts.

"No..." The utterance of a single word washed a wave of silence over them all, a moment of calm and confusion that halted suddenly when the Brazilian threw himself at the man, wrapping his arms as tight as he could about the criminal's neck. In his minute of mental crisis, the man hadn't seen Lucio shuffle up behind him and had allowed himself to be entangled by the smaller male. When shock gave way, however, the man was quick to exploit his attacker's smaller stature and grasped both his wrists tightly before throwing himself back against the van. Lucio felt the burns on his back writhe under the impact, but he did not relinquish his grip. He had screwed up too much already to let this fucker get away. He tightened the pressure around the other's windpipe with his biceps. The added pressure caused the criminal to choke slightly, but try his best to dislodge the smaller, nonetheless. He toppled over two more times, each bringing a new wave of agony into the DJ's body, loosening his grip little-by-little. Lucio tried using his weight and other other's feeble balance to throw him off, but the man was strong enough to toss the other around as though he weighed near to nothing. The amount of physical strength the man possessed was astonishing to the Brazilian. He looked like a scrawny, sick, broken man.

Lucio wouldn't be able to fight much longer, but he didn't plan to. Suddenly, he released his grip and fell back, his spine resting against the van as the other turned on his heel and leaned against a jeep. They locked eyes for the third time that night, but expressions had changed dramatically. On the criminal's face were exhaustion, shock and caution. Lucio's shared exhaustion, of course, but there, in his eyes, screamed a dare for that man to so much as twitch as the smaller held his own grenade launcher, barrel aimed at his stomach. The other wouldn't get to call Lucio's bluff, either. It didn't take Tracer, Genji and Zenyatta much longer to encircle the blond and force his surrender. In spite of it, however, a sigh of resignation and relief gusted from his mouth as he raised his hands weakly. In that regard, both men were thinking the exact same thing: 'It's over...'


	2. People Like Him

_AN~ Holy mother of hell, it has been a LONG time, hasn't it? Life has sucked and motivation has dwindled, but I've got my spark back and am ready to start updating again. I feel like I've learned a lot over these months and can produce better products, so maybe this hiatus was a blessing in disguise. Either way, I'm back and I hope you enjoy. It's a short, filler chapter, but it'll hold things over until the next is done._

* * *

He was having too much fun for a man handcuffed to a table in a police station- one who had been yelled at for nearly two hours, to boot. Those eyes bore a sickening resemblance to those of a child's. Curiosity... wonder... amusement... a near facsimile of innocence that left Lucio with a bad taste in his mouth. " _A kid on a field trip,_ " he thought. His file said he was twenty-five, but in the harsh lighting of the interrogation room made him look much older. One might guess why and any random assumption could be a reasonable one. The Brazilian's own bet was on narcotics. He hated to judge, but this Fawkes character seemed like the type with a record to support. There was at least one possession charge in there mingling with the arson and robbery- heroine. Getting a good look at him, however, he didn't strike Lucio as someone who would use that particular drug. With all the visible bare skin, he didn't see the usual signs. If anything, this man looked more like the breed to abuse pain medication rather than partake in harder substances. It sure as hell wasn't weed.

Sergeant Kahza sat across from Fawkes and stared him down, squinted eyes meeting the wide orbs of the other man. Fawkes' noticeably twitched away every so often. "I don't believe you." Kahza stood and slammed both flattened palms against the table. "I don't **fucking** believe you!" Jamison merely shrugged, offering an expression that Lucio could only best describe as ' _oh well._ ' He wasn't being smug, though. From where the Brazilian stood, Jamsion seemed like he was being genuinely honest and unassuming in spite of the circumstances. Perhaps he was a very good liar in place of being a good criminal. "Nonono! Don't give me that! I am fucking done! You tell me right now or so help me I will do everything in my power to make sure you don't even get a trial! You will spend the rest of your life in prison!"

The Australian- as fate would have it- cocked his head to the left, wild hair swaying comically with the gesture. "Ain't I goin' to jail fer life anyway?" Kahza snapped around at him, entirely unamused.

"If the court is **sane** , yes."

Jamison's palms splayed out in the best "big" shrug he could manage in the handcuffs. "Well, then even if I did know where he was, what's my motivation fer tellin'?" It wasn't the first oddly sane thing to come from the madman's mouth, but even so the sprinkles of sense still gave Lucio little twists of surprise in his gut. Kahza kicked the table, causing a leg to bump the metal knee of Jamison's peg-leg harshly.

"Me not beating that smile off of your face!" Jesse, who'd been watching through the two-way mirror at Lucio's side, quickly interjected by pressing the speaker button.

"I think that's enough, Sergeant. Come talk to me, will ya?" The native growled and gave the table another, less enthusiastic nudge with his toe before exiting the room in a huff. There was a visible lax in the prisoner's shoulders as it happened, but his expression remained unmoved. Kahza met Jesse right outside the door and both men took to another stand-off, the third in that hour. Kahza was tense and irritated and Jesse was relaxed and growing even more smug with each respite between bouts of screaming at Jamison's incredibly docile front. "I'm gonna keep trying to negotiate this," McCree warned. Kahza snorted like a wild animal. It almost made the Brazilian laugh in spite of himself.

"And I'm going to keep refusing. You're nuts. Fucking nuts. It's like you think you're a miracle worker!"

"It wouldn't be a miracle if it worked. It would be me knowing how to read people, which, like I said, I do. I was a lot like him in my younger years. Maybe a little less off the loony-edge, but similar enough."

"And I'm going to remind you to read his rap sheet! He's a terrorist!"

"Okay, I'll admit, he looks bad, but he's also a kid from a shitty place who hasn't ever had real discipline or exposure to a lawful environment. I mean, the government out there totally abandoned those people. He was left to his own devices for his entire life. Gimme a trial run! Let me test the waters and see if it has any effect."

"It won't" Kahza was firm.

"You're wrong. I am willin' to bet my life's savings on it. Give me three months. It's three months of this kid under strict Overwatch supervision and protective custody. He isn't goin' nowhere and isn't gonna have access to anything that'll cause trouble. Our base is secluded, too. Lockin' him away for life will stop his spree, sure, but rehabilitatin' him will allow him to give back. It's more beneficial. If, in three months, he hasn't changed at all, lock him up."

"Mister McCree, this is lunacy..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...And I know the higher-ups would jump at the idea... But they need my recommendation and I'm not giving it."

"Unless they veto, which they have the power to do. It takes longer, but I'm sure I could get Overwatch Custody. You playin' hard ball is just making this process more stressful on yourself." There was finally a crack in the pillars of Kahza's resolve. His hand dropped to his side and the man looked at Jamison through the glass. He was sitting silently at the table, not trying to struggle or even look around the room. He acted like a bored teenager as he played with a loose bolt on one of his hazard-orange fingers. After a moment or two, his thin chest rose and fell in a shaky breath, followed by a cough. The Australian finally looked up from his hand to the mirror. The movement wasn't sudden, but the change and unintentional focus loosely on him gave Lucio a fright. He'd never get used to those sharp and... perplexing features. He wasn't sure if ugly was the right word, either. Not handsome, not ugly... just... odd. Jamison was in-between, leaning a little towards ugly while not actually being ugly. In study, Lucio followed the lines of a few features on Fawkes' long face. His eyes were a little sunken... also round and bright. The shadows from his brow and cheek bones amplified the stark contrast that his amber irises presented. Looking at them didn't give the Brazilian the same horrible nausea as it did the first time, at least. His nose was a bit on the longer side and shared the same sharpness as everything else. It would twitch quite often. " _Maybe a tick..._ " he guessed silently. He wasn't smiling now, but Lucio had looked at Jamison's wide, lop-sided grin plenty in the earlier minutes of the interrogation. It was child-like and hinted with gold and some more natural discoloration. From the shade, he figured Jamsion liked soda, coffee or tea. Lucio's mother had similar discoloration, though not as harsh, and it was from a love of soda as a child.

After what felt like a very long silence, Kahza finally relented. "Fine... But only if he agrees to it." In hearing that, Lucio let a scoff escape his lips. He had let his guard down for one second and payed for it. Kahza gave the smaller man a steely glare as Jesse walked between them to enter the interrogation room. To avoid the look, the Brazilian turned his attention back to Fawkes who now looked at Jesse with a more prominent sense of intrigue.

"Howdy, Mister Eastwood," he tried a southern accent and it blended horribly with his own. One was actually thick and the other was an attempt equally as thick and it only became an assault on the ears. Regardless, he seemed proud of the joke and even more so when Jesse humored him with a smile. Whether or not McCree actually found it funny was up in the air.

"Howdy, partner." The greeting wasn't even Jesse playing along with the joke. Lucio honestly believed that the southerner was being genuine. Either way, it made Jamison beam even more. "My name is Jesse McCree. I'm with Overwatch."

"Gotta say I figured. Do you guys just... not have a dress-code? Uniforms? Is it casual friday?"

Jesse chuckled. "We're playin' loose right now, gettin' our feet under us. Not sure if the uniforms are gonna come back, but I'm not complainin'. Anyway, I'm actually here to make you an offer, Mister Fawkes."

Jamison puts up his metal palm. "I dunno where he is."

"No no, that's not what I'm bargainin' for. After a couple hours of this, I honestly believe you. What I'm offerin' is... a second chance. I know you come from Junkertown 'n out that way and don't think you wanna go to jail-"

"Waitwaitwait... Yer offerin' me... me freedom?" The astonishment on his face was almost a pleasant change. Jesse gave a sideways expression and shrugged.

"In a sense... What I'm offerin' you is a chance to not go to jail for somethin' sorta like community service."

"Community service? Cleanin' up rubbish on the freeway and cuttin' hedges in the park?"

"No, this is special. A rare offer that's only been handed out once before... That I know of, at least. In exchange for not going to the slammer, I want you to come with us back to base and work with Overwatch for a period of time." Lucio didn't know that those beady-eyes could get any wider. That face only got more and more bazar, leaving the smaller man to fear any other emotions that might cross over it if he did agree to hang around the base. The very idea made him feel ill, especially since he had no authority to complain.

"You... Wot?" He turned his head as if trying to hear Jesse better. "Me? Work fer Overwatch? Yer gaggle of goody-two-shoes?"

"Yup. Three months."

"And... What happens at the end... of those three months?"

Jesse shrugged. "That's up to you."

From the silence, Kahza finally spoke and the suddenness of his raspy rumble made Lucio jump. His nerves were shot and he didn't know how much more he could take for the day. "I have a horrible feeling that he's going to agree."

In a near panic, the smaller man agrees. "Me, too." As Jesse and Jamison converse, Kahza continues.

"Do you know what he sees in that lunatic?"

"Uhh... Well, I guess some of himself...? I dunno. I mean, he is kinda young, but... You know, I try to see the good in everyone, but I don't think I'm in a clear enough state to judge right now."

"I am. This kid is a walking disaster. A volatile brew of bad shit, fermenting since the day he was born."

"A little... harsh, don't you think?"

Kahza turns to him slowly with a firm, scrunched glare, almost a snarl. "One day, you people are going to realize that this world is a shitty place full of shitty people. People like him outweigh people like you on the cosmic scale. Reforming this one fucker is only making room for a new one to take his place. The cycle doesn't stop and the world doesn't become a better place for it."

Lucio knew he'd dislike this man.


	3. Black Magic

A muzzle seemed excessive. No, it **was** excessive, but they seemed to think it was necessary. Fawkes stepped out of the transport covered head to toe in restraints. The chains on his hands seemed heavy, too- enough so to make him slouch forward considerably. Even so, Lucio remembered how the Australian had towered over him and tossed him around as though he were weightless in spite of his frail form. Jesse came out with Angela and Lucio to greet Overwatch's new charge. The southerner had been given Jamison as somewhat of a warden, a watchful eye on the man's activities while on base. In short, he was McCree's responsibility and no one objected at all. The only reason the Brazilian was even there was out of his own curiosity since his involvement in bringing the terrorist in was the majority. He wasn't exactly opposed to bringing him on board, but he had his reservations. Seeing that shocking face every day was certainly a concern. Jesse walked up to the guards and gave them the okay to remove the binds, which they took to with efficiency, even with their momentary hesitation. The last item to come off was a muzzle. Once free, the blond set his jaw opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"Strewth. You'd think I had rabies," he exclaimed with a tinge of annoyance. Jesse gave a sympathetic smile and a shrug.

"Well, I don't exactly blame 'em. You caused a lot 'a trouble, kid." Jamison didn't offer a verbal retort, simply huffing and scratching some of the spots where chains had been. Lucio was personally surprised that the department of corrections let the man have his minimal, tattered clothes back. Overwatch wasn't going to let him, would they? There might not have been uniforms, but they had standards, right? Angela came up next to Jesse and patted Jamison's chest.

"Could you stand up straight for a moment, please?" Jamison did as was asked, but looked to McCree in question.

"Doctor," was his simple reply and it was enough to make the Australian a little less testy with the small intrusion of personal space. Angela walked around Fawkes, scrunching her face every so often upon finding something that Lucio guessed was wrong.

"It's hard to get a good look with all this... dirt," she explained, smudging a patch of soot on Jamison's right side which caused him to twitch away uncomfortably. "I can tell that you are a little too slim in the waist, however... some bruising and concerning scars... I'll need to get you into my office for an extensive check-up after you bathe. Any Medical conditions we should know about before hand? Allergies?"

"Uhhh... Well... I have eczema... Like... reoccurring er whatever... er... was it psoriasis...? I 'unno, one 'a the two. I get this thing on me chin 'n neck. Other 'n that... nnnnnnoooo..." He seemed a little uncomfortable.

" _Makes sense,_ " Lucio thought. " _Doctors probably don't get out to where he's from very often._ " He remembered a few stories where journalists and other outsiders had been attacked upon entering the irritated sector of the outback. From all sources he could find, the Junker domain was like an entirely different world apart from civilized society. Jamison was like a member of a lost tribe being brought into the fold of civilized people. Hell, he even looked the part.

"How did you lose these?" Angela lifted Fawkes' right arm with one hand and tapped his peg-leg with the other. The junker moved away in response, but kept a docile demeanor, though still uneasy along the edges.

"Uhh. Well, I make explosives, right? Was testin' a pressure bomb and accidentally knocked it on the floor. Blew part 'a the wall off me house and-" He made an ill-fitting popping sound with his lips while curling his left hand into a fist and then splaying it in tandem. "- No more leg. As fer the arm, well... I was young. Details 'r fuzzy." Angela chose not to prod any further and accepted the explanation. With a nod, she looked at Jesse and started to walk back inside from the hangar.

"Send him to me once he's cleaned up." Jesse tipped his hat as she passed and Jamison cleared his throat.

"Erm... When she said 'bathe'..."

* * *

It took some doing, but Lucio was sure McCree had finally gotten Jamison into the shower. He didn't stay to watch the entire ordeal, but saw enough to know that Jesse had his work cut out of him. As for himself, he had made his way back to his room and had been trying to get his shirt off as delicately as possible. Angela had been treating the burns from his first mission, but the pain was anything but ebbed. Not even close. In the mirror, he tried his best to follow the giant splotches of of welting skin and char. The worst of it wound down from his shoulder blades, along his back and down past the waste band of his jogging pants where it continued over the backs of his thighs and stopped just below the backs of his knees. It was darker around the shoulders and small of his back and that was certainly where it hurt the worst. A small part of him wanted to deeply resent the man who gave him such injuries, but he could remind himself that they could've been worse and that the injuries weren't brought about by directed malice. In that moment of silent reminder, Lucio stopped in his tracks and realized something very... disorienting.

He'd been so nonchalant over the ordeal as a whole. He accepted his injuries, didn't argue when the man who caused them was brought on-board with the operation... He'd felt.. hazy since the incident had ended... no, maybe even before that... He'd been a little off for a few weeks, only then really noticing it. He eyed his reflection, doing an about face to get a better view. For some reason, he looked otherworldly to himself. His own face and body seemed foreign and it felt so damn wrong. Aside from a new sense of unease, he'd been mostly emotionless. Why? He pondered and stared into his own eyes, seeing them and feeling more and more like he was standing before stranger with each passing minute. They shouldn't have been strange to him at all. They were the same as his mother's, the same dark shade of chocolate brown. People remarked about their similarity, in fact. If he looked upon her face, he was sure they wouldn't seem so new.

He took a deep breath and tried to collect himself, wherever those parts had fallen. It helped considerably for a moment and allowed him to force a smile and re-dress. From there, he walked from his dark, empty room into the hall. As fate would have it, Lena was coming towards him. Her face was somewhat irritated and he didn't have to guess why. He didn't think anyone aside from McCree was happy about the situation... or indifferent like himself. She waved him down and met him with a sigh, something Lucio retorted to with a sympathetic spread of his lips. "We should send Jesse in to deal with hostage situations," she joked. The Brazilian's smile stretched into a grin as a chuckle forced its way out.

"Right? If he made Sergeant Kahza budge, he's using some black magic or something."

"He better be savin' some of it for that psycho he's just adopted. Rehabilitatin' **him** could **only** be magic."

"No kidding..." he managed allow himself a sigh of respite. "Not like there's anything he can do here, at least. Athena's tacked onto him, he's suppose to be locked in his room when the lights go out and McCree is going to be on him twenty-four-seven. Honestly, this might be even more secure than prison, especially with his friend still out there. He has an escape record that goes all the way back to age fourteen."

"Wait, you actually read his file?" she seemed amazed. "That thing looked like a novel when I was holdin' it. I wasn't about to look through it."

"Yeah, well... I wanted to actually know something about the first person I brought in as an agent, you know? Commemorate the occasion in a weird way?"

She laughed. " _Weird_ is right. Well, I'm headin' out for patrol. See ya later!" A few bright blinks and she was gone. Lucio smiled after her, feeling a little bit of weight lifted from his stomach as he walked down the hall in the other direction. He felt that maybe he could relax better with something solid in his belly. All he'd eaten in the past two days had been a bagel and a bag of chips he'd rationed throughout a day. He hadn't had much of an appetite, but it was about time he forced himself to have a real meal, even if he didn't feel up to it. when he got there, no one else was in the mess hall. Round tables were clear and lonely, laid upon with pink and orange hues from the massive floor-to-ceiling windows along the left wall. They outlooked the ocean over the cliffside. Lucio used to think that such a view was more suited for a meeting room, but he'd come to appreciate it where it was. The room was always unlocked, always welcoming... people weren't usually prone to coming in there at odd hours like himself. It was a pretty place to be alone when one's room was suffocating. He decided to sit on the floor in front of said windows, crossed legs nearly touching the glass and forehead pressed into it. It was pleasantly cool and, through it, he could feel the distant rumble of waves throwing themselves upon the rocks below. Was he sick? The possibility crossed his mind once or twice, but now he was starting to believe it. Perhaps his body was warning him that a virus or something was building up.

The silence didn't last long.

An off-beat clacking came from the hallway leading in followed by the dull, heavy thuds of boots. Lucio took his head off the window and turned himself enough to see Fawkes being escorted into the room by Jesse who had a tight hold on his left elbow. The southerner didn't even seem to see Lucio as he pushed Jamison into a chair and pointed sternly at the ground. "Stay." He didn't suggest anger and he left just as soon as he'd come. Jamison huffed after him and slouched in his spot. Even from the distance, Lucio could tell that the Australian looked different. His skin and hair were considerably lighter and an array of bruising and scars were now incredibly visible along his neck and shoulders. When the man looked in his direction, the change was stark, but it didn't entirely correct the previous issues the Brazilian had. His eye-sockets were lighter and his face didn't look anywhere near as aged, but Jamison was still as strange and lop-sided-looking as ever. Amber eyes caught the smaller man and recognition was very palpable. In that, Lucio feared conversation, but it never came. The lanky man merely stared for a moment before looking away in the near opposite direction. Lucio wondered if the other was in trouble already. Even if Jesse didn't appear mad, something had to have been about for Jamison to be distinctly left in the hall.

" _At least he's listening..._ " For a second, the Brazilian chalked it up to himself being there, but that changed instantly upon remembering how easily overpowered he was in a one-on-one fight with the other. If Jamison wanted to leave the room, he could confidently do so. All things considered, Fawkes didn't appear as the type tp fully and compliantly commit to his sentence, let alone willingly sit in this room on that stool for as long as Jesse was inclined to make him wait. Still, there he was... sitting silently, albeit irritated, and expectant. It was another five minutes before McCree returned. In his arms was a duffle bag that he tossed on the floor next to their new charge.

"Okay, partner, I'm gonna get you some supper and then you're gonna take that bag back to your room and change into those clothes." Upon hearing those words, Jamison instantly regarded the nag with a new sense of disgust and weary.

"I thought you said there were no uniforms."

"There ain't, but there is somewhat of a dress code. Yer clothes don't fit the guidelines. Don't worry. It's nothing embarrassing. The clothes we provide for you will be comfortable and tasteful." He tried to be reassuring, obviously mocking someone in the last couple of sentences- Lucio guessed it was Winston. In spite of that, Fawkes continued to look displeased.

"If, uh... If you say so, cobber." Jesse nodded and started to walk behind the counter. "Ehh, I'm not really hungry, mate."

"Well, Doctor Ziegler says she wants you on a diet of three strict meals a day and gave me all of the details. You gotta eat something now. 'Sides, you need something to wash down those meds with." Lucio hadn't even noticed the bottles in Jamison's hands. One was a liquid medication and the other was pills. He scrutinized them both with equal volumes of contempt on their mention. Jesse walked into the kitchen and came out minutes later with a plate and an unfolded paper in his hands. The plate seemed to have some diced meat on it. It wasn't a lot. "For right now, she says you need a little meat with the pills. Once you're done eating, you take some of the liquid stuff and then give them both to me." He put the paper in his back pocket and set down the minimalistic meal on the table behind the Aussie. Once again, Jamison reminded Lucio of a teenager, rolling his eyes and one poking lip away from a pout.

"I dun think you can get high off of supplements," He allowed his expression and tone to lighten considerably with that. A small smile even crossed his lips and a chuckle managed to escape. Jesse only spun his finger in the air to signal that he wanted Jamison to turn around, which he begrudgingly did, but only to leer at what looked like chicken. McCree leaned against the counter and waited, finally looking away from the Aussie. When he saw Lucio, his expression lit up like a firecracker.

"Oh! Hey, kid. Sorry if we bothered ya'."

Lucio smiled softly and got up to approach him. "Nah, it's fine. Was kinda bored, actually. Nothing more entertaining than watching a twenty-five-year-old man act like a five-year-old being served broccoli." Jamison laughed sarcastically as he picked up a piece of meat and unhappily popped it in his mouth.

"'Least I'm not th' size 'a one." Before Lucio could utter a retort, McCree snapped his fingers at Fawkes.

"Eat yer food," He commanded like an annoyed parent. The Australian made a face, but continued eating. Honestly, he seemed tired. "Don't forget the pills."

"Aye, aye. 'M not forgettin' th' pills. Keep yer chaps on."

"Watch the back-talk." The cowboy wasn't being entirely serious, finding humor in the ordeal.

"Struth, yer like a ruttin' granny."

"Don't make me get my cain." Jamison laughed at that, but the sound wasn't exactly pleasant. It was shrill and accented with a small snort at the end. In spite of that, Jesse allowed himself a smile.

"So, how are those burns doin'?" Lucio rubbed his back.

"They're fine. The lighter stuff is already hurting less. Angela said the darker spots would be there for a while, though. I'll get used to it. I'll get plenty more burns being here, I'm sure."

Jamison turned around slightly, swallowing a pill. "Did I do that?"

As uncomfortable as it was being directly addressed by the man, Lucio tried not to sound spiteful, though he thought a small drop of venom wormed its way into his words. "Uh.. Yeah. That, uh... That... 'bomb' of yours did it. Destroyed my armor, too." The last sentence was almost a bite and Fawkes reeled slightly from it. At least he had the decency not to prod and leave the smaller man be from there. Jesse gingerly patted the Brazilian's left shoulder- mindful.

"Yeah, I'm sure Torb will be happy to help you rebuild it. God knows he's been itchin' for somethin' to do." Lucio smiled again, trying not to look as run-down as he felt.

* * *

He hated it. He absolutely hated it. The baggy, black cargo pants weren't really a problem, but the tight, black t-shirt with the Overwatch insignia taking up most of the front was the object of his disdain. Aside from it being uncomfortably tight and a high crew-neck, the material was... he didn't know how to describe it, actually. It was thick, slick and shiny. Seeing it on his torso made him more self-conscious than he ever was going without a shirt at all. On top of all of that, they took his boot, gave him a shiny new one that he wasn't suppose to scuff up and mentioned something about getting him a new leg that was "more efficient." " _It's better than prison,_ " he reminded himself, but his faith in the statement was starting to dwindle as Overwatch started to resemble such a place. He had a special diet, special medicine, regular doctor visits for radiation treatments, a schedule that locked him in his room during certain hours and an escort who was also talking about combat training and "work." What could Overwatch possibly have planned for him? He doubted he was even allowed to leave the base, let along the main building, so what "work" could be even do? Pick up trash on the beach? Move boxes? Mop the floor and do the dishes? A good portion of his mind didn't doubt for a second that he was brought on for the organization's sole benefit rather than actual "community service." Was this _really_ better than prison?

He sighed. " _Three months is better than a life sentence._ " That was true. In three months, he could be back out on the streets and back to being free. Fuck Overwatch. Fuck this community service. Fuck the world. With that, he walked from the mirror to the pristine, white bed. Jesse had said something about being able to personalize the room as long as it stayed clean and undamaged. That had confused him since he wasn't sure he was exactly allowed to go to the store and buy posters. They took his pocket money in Numbani, anyway. They were certain that he had stolen all of it. " _I earned five of it legitimately_ ," he had told them, but it was either all or nothing with the processing crowd. Jamison sat down and picked at the strange material of the shirt, still trying to figure out what it was. It was going to drive him crazy.


	4. Black and Blue

He was sitting alone. It didn't surprise the DJ for one moment, but it did stab into his stomach with a pang of guilt when he finally reminded himself that they were trying to rehabilitate this man. Across the mess hall, people sat and ate and had happy conversations while Jamison secluded himself. Lucio was sure that McCree would sit with him, but he wasn't there at the moment and simply asked everyone to keep an eye on Fawkes while he ran a quick errand. It wasn't like Jamison seemed to mind sitting alone, but it still struck the Brazilian as... well, sad. Finally finding a break in the conversation he was having with Genji, Lucio excused himself and walked to the back corner of the room. Amber eyes lifted and watched him the entire way and were entirely unreadable until he sat down. He half-expected some reluctance or even a stark dismissal in favor of being reclusive, but it didn't come. In fact, a broad, sideways smile became plastered on Jamison's lips.

"G'day, Tree-Frog!" The speed at which Jamison went from emotionless to completely amiable was almost dizzying. Still, the DJ smiled back and presented his own greeting, albeit clumsily.

"Hey... Jamison? Jamie? What- what do you go by?"

"Uh, I go by 'Junkrat' actually."

"Junk... rat? That's... Interesting."

"Aye, it's me Junker name. In Junkertown, they give ya' a name based on wot yer like."

"Oh. You don't get to choose your own? Wouldn't that kinda suck being saddled with something you don't like?" The Junker shrugged.

"Yeh, but even if ya are, it'll grow on ye. Most'a us gettem young, anyways, so there's plenty 'a time to get used to it. I got mine when I was fifteen cos I was skinny 'n good at gettin' ta tight spaces like a rat... Well... SkinniER. Anyway, dun believe I caught yer name, cobber 'er jus' forgot." Considering the way things had been for Fawkes around the base lately, Lucio doubted he really caught ANYONE'S name aside from Angela's and McCree's. He didn't mind.

"Lucio." He stuck out a hand and swallowed slightly when it was engulfed in a massive, calloused palm.

"S'nice ta finally meet ya'!" After a moment, he finally released Lucio's hand and was practically beaming. "Oh, and, uh... I dun hold nothin' 'gainst ya, mate. I dun hold many grudges. I know you were just doin' yer job 'n all. Honestly, m' surprised you of all people actually came t' say hullo. I wouldn't have been hurt had ya not, t' be honest. Pretty sure I hurt ya' good with that mine. Heard ya' say somethin' 'bout burns." Good lord, did he know how to prattle. It took Lucio at a delay before he managed to respond and he tried not to look too dumbfounded when he did so.

"Yeah, yeah... I mean, I knew it wasn't anything personal... And, yeah, I got some burns. They still hurt pretty bad. Sleeping is a pain." In the back of his mind, he couldn't believe himself. Here he was, trying to be polite and considerate to a terrorist who had destroyed thousands of dollars in public property, put hundreds of lives in danger and so, so much more. Jamison was the walking textbook definition of an appalling human being and any sane human being knew that there was a limit to the amount of things someone could excuse with upbringing. There were things that people knew that they just shouldn't do. He was without morals, sense, limits... yet he was being as friendly and cheerful as humanly possible. He'd even sort-of apologized for what he'd done to him. Hell, he even showed a tinge of shame! Lucio had to forcefully remind himself that Fawkes may have been sorry for hurting him, but he wasn't sorry for the damage he caused and the things he'd taken. He told himself that he shouldn't be being this nice to him, but anther part of his brain begrudgingly forced those other thoughts away. For someone to change, they needed to know kindness. They needed to know empathy. They needed friendship, or the closest thing to friendship anyone was willing to provide. "So... Are you... okay here? I mean, I know it's not home or anything, but... You know... Nothing you can't live with?"

Junkrat nodded and scratched at the left side of his nose. For the first time since he arrived, Lucio noticed the sparse line of freckles along the bridge and cheeks. They almost made his features appear less intense. "Yeh, it's certainly different, but nothin' I can't handle. Guess s'kinda its nice t' be clean 'n fed... Knowin' I have a place to sleep every night. Knowin' I won't get **robbed** while I sleep. Feels a lot like jail, though. A shiny jail, but still."

' _Of course it is,_ ' he thought. ' _A lot of people would say you **should** be in jail. A **real** jail.' _He'd never say that out loud, however; he opted instead to change the subject. "I... heard you say you make your own explosives. How'd you get into doing that?" The other's face seemed to light up even more at the mention of explosives, if that were event possible. It made the Brazilian a little uneasy, but he stuck through it. It sure seemed to make the the other man happy to even be asked.

"Mate, have you ever blown anythin' up? That shit's amazing! Er..." He stopped, seemingly realizing that he'd said something silly. "I... s'pose you never really have, bein' in this outfit... Not really yer style. Not sure if I know how to describe it to someone like-"

"I've done my fair share of..." He struggled to find the words. "Less... legal activities. Not without good reason, but I've caused a bit of damage before."

Jamison tilted his head. "Like wot?"

"Well... There was this... company. They came into my home and tried to basically become dictators over the people living there, so I may or may not have... stolen a weapon from one of their facilities... and used it against them." The absolute approving astonishment on the other man's face was a double-edged sword, making Lucio both want to smile and cringe. He chose the former.

"Strewth!" He finally said after a moment of silence. "Wa' happened?"

"We ended up driving them out of our neighborhoods. It wasn't right what they were doing. No one should be in fear of their wellbeing like that and I wasn't going to sit back and let it keep happening. It might've been illegal, but it was ultimately for the greater good... That's what **I** think anyway." Another swift and sudden change in Fawkes' expression and Lucio was trying as hard as he could not to visibly reel back. A wide-eyed smile dropped to a cold, blank, downward stare faster than he could blink. What the DJ wouldn't give to know what had been going through Jamison's mind at that very moment... a moment of absolute, nerve-racking silence. Should he ask what's wrong? Should he wait? Should he leave? Was getting up with a polite excuse an option or had he struck some nerve that he shouldn't test any farther with another word in his voice? He didn't seem angry, though... Just distant... a clear slate. From behind him, Lucio heard shuffling and turned to see the rest leaving the hall. Genji stopped and looked in his direction, holding out an upturned thumb in a silent question. Lucio returned the gesture with a smile before rebounding his attention to the Junker. When he looked back, Jamison's eyes flicked up to meet his and he shook his head like he'd been lost in thought.

"Oh, um..." he cleared his throat. "Sorry, I-I do that sometimes. Brain's like a dog. Every little thing can yank me off this way an' that." He stopped and saw the empty room, realizing with slightly risen shoulders that they were alone. "Where'd everyone go?"

"They were done eating, so they left."

"An'... ye dun wanna go with 'em?"

"Well, I was talking to you, wasn't I? Not like I can leave, now. I need to keep an eye on you for McCree." Lucio realized too late that he hadn't expressed Jamison coming with everyone else as an option and wondered if that might've hurt the other... or if he'd even realized at all. His face was still unreadable. In an attempt to salvage the situation, he continued. "Is there anything you wanna do? I mean, you can't leave the main building without Jesse here, but there's still tons of stuff here. We have a game room, a gym, a pool... I don't mind any of it." He tried his absolute best to make his smile seem genuine. He really did. It seemed to work because the Australian brightened up, regaining some of his former enthusiasm. Not all of it, but enough for him to smile a little.

"Nah, mate... Yer not me warden. Should jus' wait for Clint t' get back."

"Clint?" He cocks a brow at the man across from him and gets a raised one in return. "Oh! You mean Jesse!"

"Yeh, yeh. Him."

"You really want to wait in here for Jesse to come back when we don't even know how long he's suppose to be gone?" Jamison's face cleared with realization, eyes widening slightly before he hummed.

"Mmm... Yeh... Right. Well, I jus'... I know you dun wanna be here 'n all. I ain't gonna ask you to walk 'round with me 'r converse 'r whatever." He shook his head suddenly and then took a deep breath, drawing out the release in a massive sigh. When he regained his ability to speak, there was something new on his face, a mixture. One something drop-dead serious and the other emotion was entirely unplaceable. "Okay, look: I know what's goin' on. Ya dun have to pretend to be nice. Yer friends had it right t' begin with. Dun talk to me, dun try t' act like I belong here. I know how you all feel 'bout th' likes 'a me and I ain't gonna accept this... charity yer tryin' t' give me."

The DJ was entirely blown away, something hot and betrayed brewing in his gut. "What? I'm not-"

"Dun start. Not a single person here in their right mind would wanna associate with me unless they had to with the exception of th' cowboy and I know fer a fact that he has other motives. Dun know what they are, but he has them. There is no reason for you, out of all the people here, t' wanna spend time with me 'r get to know me. I thought about it an' it dun make sense. I hurt you. I make you uncomfortable. I can tell by the look on yer face every time I glance in yer direction. M' not lettin' this go on and let meself get lulled into the sweet sense of acceptance, 'specially since I dun even wanna be here t' begin with. 'M savin' ya the trouble. If ya gotta watch me 'till he gets back, fine, but if I were in yer position, I would do it silently." It sounded so... bitter... So uncharacteristic of the person he'd been observing. Even at the police station in Numbani, Fawkes seemed chipper and unfazed by any and everything, so what warranted this turnaround? Sure, Lucio felted a little obligated to be nice to the man, but he wasn't obligated to come over and give him some company. He wasn't obligated to even look at him if he wasn't working directly with him. Lucio was sitting on that stool, not out of pity or a feeling of requirement. He was sitting there because... His gaze twitched as he made the realization what felt like far too late.

"I didn't come over here because I had to or because I wanted to make you feel welcome." His voice was flat and he didn't dare let it or his expression waver when the Australian shot him an annoyed glare. "It's my turn to be honest and honestly I came over here because I was curious. I came over here because you're a weird-looking psychopath who torched and bruised me, who doesn't give a shit about other people, who obviously does and says things without thinking and who has somehow been brought into someplace meant to house the exact opposite kind of people." It was cold, now, and the look he was getting from Fawkes was becoming more and more bewildered with each venomous word that escaped the Brazilian's mouth. Even in the heat of it, Lucio couldn't believe for a second that he had just said those things to the other, but in spite of that he continued. Something snarling, snapping and hissing inside him egged him on. "You are the exact kind of person that I joined Overwatch to put behind bars. You take, you destroy and you spread fear. I hope that whatever it is that Jesse is doing ends poorly so that you get turned right around and sent to jail for the rest of your life where you belong." He was standing at that point and instantly regretted every single honest, hateful, resentful word that dared to soil his tongue. Something HAD to have been wrong with him; very, very wrong. Amber eyes locked onto chestnut ones and glared back blankly, the coldness of them attempting to extinguish the horrible fire in the others. The attempt was in vain. Then, a smile gradually worked its way across Jamison's thin face.

"I knew it. I knew you weren't at all the friendly, happy-go-lucky golden boy everyone makes you out to be!" **That** made Lucio's expression falter, albeit slightly.

"What?"

"I know **exactly** who you are! Bloody hell, the news rarely every shuts up about ya! Yer helpin' unfortunate kids, yer raisin' money fer charity, yer as sweet as honey to everyone ya meet! Oh, no. No no no, I **knew** you weren't all that 'n a bag a' chips. Hell, no! No one is that upstandin'! No one!" The Brazilian wasn't sure how to respond. He wasn't even sure what was happening. He just sat there with his mouth slightly ajar. "Yer a resentful asshole under all that showmanship!" Jamison's smile was a mile wide, hand gestures gone wild and broad. In a moment of respite between Jamison's ranting, Lucio tried to interject, getting in only one broken sound before the Australian shut him up good. "And I like it." Those words were spoken with a dirty, toothy grin under squinted eyes. The expression was agonizingly wicked and smug. He was proud of what he'd just done... proud that the other could offer no reply and the DJ was desperate to force SOMETHING from his mouth that had only moments ago spilled a flood of horrible things! Say **something** , God Damn it! Say **something**!

"No! No, I am NOT like that! I've been off lately and I would have NEVER said those things!" It was a little traction, but enough to make himself not run from the room and relent; but, of course, Jamison knew how to yank the rug right out from under his feet.

"But you thought them, didn't ya? Ya wanted to say them 'r else they would've never come to mind! If you ain't usually like this, then mebbe the real you is finally comin' out. Yer head's done with you bein' so flowery an' sweet all the time." Lucio's face was red all across his nose and cheeks. His face was red and fuming and Jamison's was delighted- absolutely beside itself in smug glee. "It feels nice t' be nice sometimes, but we're all jackasses inside, Tree frog. Yers was tired 'a bein' caged up and now yer miserable, high strung and it's hard t' force a' smile, innit? I've seen you fake smiles better in interviews where they asked ya 'bout yer love life! Wanna stop bein' miserable? Stop pretendin' t' be nice to people! Yer not that nice. No one is that nice."

It wasn't what he was suppose to do. It was exactly what Jamison wanted, exactly what made him feel like he proved his point... but his body moved automatically, a plane with a psychotic autopilot... He cocked back his right arm, fist held tightly, and slammed it directly into the other's cheek. The impact shoved Jamison back and off of his stool. He hit the floor and found himself wedged between the table and wall with one leg stuck against the table top. Lucio glared down at him, wanting to see the pain, see anger, see ANYTHING other than the grin that resurfaced. It was even more happy and more smug than before. With no other foreseeable option, the DJ turned tail and fought every urge to bolt as fast as he could from the hall. He didn't care if he'd left 'Junkrat' alone. He didn't care if he'd be pointed at and blamed if something bad happened. He only cared about locking himself away, which he did as soon as he made it to his room.

* * *

Everyone was looking at him completely wrong. They all had something on their minds and they refused to voice it, be it a concern or a question or an observation. No matter what it was, it was about to drive him nuts. He could see it in their eyes, in their mask expressions and in their voices as they spoke of other things and as he remained a silent observer. Lena was smiling and laughing with Hana and Winston. Genji and Zenyatta were talking calmly amongst each other. Everyone would toss him a glance or an inquiry occasionally, but none would say what was on their minds. He could guess what was going on and it was a solid assumption. He wasn't smiling. He woke up that morning unable to do so. He was hurting, he was tired in spite of a full night's rest... He wasn't in the mood to smile. He hated the very idea of doing so in that moment and he both wanted them to get it over with and never mention it at all. They had all finally decided to put the underused gym into operation again and strolled in as a noisy group.

They weren't the first ones there. On the back corner of the room, Jesse and Jamison were against the back wall. Jesse was sitting on a weight bench and Jamison was on the floor next to it with a bottle of water in his metal grasp. The Aussie's left cheek was a deep shade of purple with splotches of dark red mixed with the swelling flesh. Lucio wanted to be proud of the mark, but bit back a burning sensation in his gut that reminded him... He knew it was coming, though. He locked eyes with McCree and he knew it was coming. A metal arm raised above the cowboy's head and two fingers motioned him over as the group broke apart to attend to different activities. His tennis shoes sounded so loud on the tile floor... The tapped softly under him as he made his way across from the door. He skirted the boxing ring where Genji and Zenyatta and chosen to meditate... He heard the initializing beeps from a treadmill to his left and more as a speed was being set. He saw an array of weights being taken from the racks, large ones in furred paws. He saw Jamison's eyes directly ahead. There was no smile on his face, but the pleasure in those eyes was enough.


	5. Blurry Face

Distraction. He needed a distraction. He didn't care if it was strenuous or difficult, he just needed something. Everything was itchy and aching and twitchy... Damn it, why did it hurt so bad? Why did an entire wall of his room have to be a huge window of two-inch thick, bullet-proof glass? Why did this God-forsaken base have to have huge, orange flood-lights on at night and have one of said lights directly outside his bedroom window? Of course, he had curtains, but he didn't think he could get up to close them without vomiting. The world was already spinning while he was lying down. With a groan, Jamison closed his eyes and tried not to imagine the swirling dots that were just dancing on the ceiling. He tried not to chase the pluming clouds of shapes that swelled and overlapped under his eye-lids. In his groggy, disheveled state, he tried his absolute best to "daydream." Deep breaths burned like a taser hooked into his rib-cage, but he kept them at a semi-constant frequency in his best attempt to relax that he could muster. The dark clouds under his eye-lids gradually faded into something tangible... something familiar... A night untainted by neither city nor moon and only illuminated by the billions of stars. The sky met the land on a horizon of dusty, red dirt. In his mind, it was cool. Not too warm, not too cold. It was just... cool... Comfortable. He couldn't see anything for miles. That was... save for a vaguely familiar figure at his side. It was taller than him... well built, but not stocky... His hair _looked_ blond, but he couldn't really tell in the low light. He couldn't even remember if that was correct.

And... he had no face...

It was just a blur of features and shapes that accumulated into nothing in the end. Try and try as he might, Jamison couldn't reconstruct that face. He couldn't force any more details into clarity. He was just... barely there next to him. He was just a slightly familiar shape... Jamison opened his eyes again and looked at his ceiling, felt the pain in his joints and the twitching in his every muscle with every little movement he tried to make, but something was different. There were shafts of feint sunlight filtering through his window. Dread ate away at his insides as he closed his eyes again and tried to drift back off, but his alarm tore that luxury from him rudely with a hellish squawk. He wasn't allowed to shut his own alarm off since the base's AI knew his schedule and was there to make sure he stuck to it as closely as possible. He read the actual paper once or twice, but couldn't be bothered to memorize it. If the AI and his "superiors" were there to make sure he stuck to it, then why did he need to remember a damned thing. Still, in spite of the horrid noise, Jamison didn't move. He laid in bed and waited for the computer to nag him, like she'd done every morning for the past three days.

"Cadet Fawkes, it's time to get up. McCree's trusting you to get your own breakfast this morning before going to the gym and not having at least something small in your system before a work-out is not advisable." He really, really, REALLY wanted to be petty. He wasn't in the mood to be a good, plastic soldier today, but simple disobedience wasn't what he had in mind. Oh no. Without fuss, Jamison slipped out of his bed, fighting off his twisting gut to shuffle over to his closet where he donned his horrible, tight uniform. The mirror attached to the closet door taunted him in the low light. He glared himself down until the fog cleared and the image in the mirror was finally realized as himself. The flesh under his eye and along the sharp bone of his cheek was still swollen and discolored. Not nearly as bad, but still a few days off from healing. The pain had mostly subsided and the more it dwindled, the more the mark seemed to be worth, at least in **his** eyes. He thumbed it a little with a metal hand. "Cadet Fawkes."

Wordlessly, the Australian nodded and patted the doorframe on his way out. He had never been a morning person. He was more of a night owl than anything and this god-forsaken place certainly was doing a bang-up job ripping out his internal clock. Worse still, he had never been one to get out of bed instantly after waking up. The teetering against the clumsy drag of his peg-leg reminded him all too well as to why that was. How anyone around him was able to do it was like black magic. He managed to drag himself to the doorway of the cafeteria and stopped just outside the room, keeping himself pressed into the shadow from the outer wall caused by the massive bay-windows of the room. Everyone else was there already save for Winston and McCree. They all ate cheerfully in their own little groups. They were quiet, thankfully, but seeing it just made him feel sick- not in a hatred sort of way, but... He'd never allow himself to clarify it. He was scared of the label.

God, he didn't want to go in. He never did. He hated being stared at from across the room like he had horns growing out if his head. Annoyed eye-rolls and nervous sidelong glances were one thing, but genuinely spiteful glares were another beast entirely. Jesse had honestly been the only person in the group that he didn't get that vibe from. A quick stab in his cheek reminded him dutifully that he hadn't been just a couple days ago. Like it so often did, the thoughts of pride and smugness in the reminder of the mark gave way to a shred of regret. It was the kind of self-doubt that he tried with all his might to wash away with a quick change of subject or scenery, but he wasn't awake enough to soldier through it. " _You just **had** to test the weight limit, didn't you?_ " He swiftly turned with a spin on his peg-leg that almost sent him crashing onto the linoleum. He tried to shuffle quietly and quickly from the area and towards the gym. He wouldn't have been able to eat anyway.

Jamison made quick work of the long, empty halls in a pace growing steadier in time. He reached the double doors and pushed inside, finally allowing himself to relax when he felt the swish of air behind them as they closed. Jesse turned his attention from a punching bag to the left of the door. "Oh. You already eat?" Disbelief was clear on his features. Jamison saw it and still nodded.

"Yeh. Wasn't feelin' up fer much today, though. Might've wasted some stuff."

Jesse waved it off. "Don't worry about it, partner. We're just doin' some more light strength trainin' today, anyway. You wanna try your hand at those one-armed push-ups again?" Jamison's mind went to the previous day when Mcree had told him to not rely on his artificial limbs. Jokingly, the Australian had tried to put his right arm behind his back and use only his left, but had done so in a way that incorrectly shifted the balance and ended up flat on his face. He laughed at it yesterday. Everyone did. It had felt good. They weren't spiteful laughs... they weren't mocking... They sounded genuine and at recalling it he felt his eyes sting a little. He didn't laugh at it today. He winced it away and shrugged.

"Sure." Even though he'd told himself before that he didn't want to be obedient today, he found himself going about his routine with more attentiveness than he had when he was actually putting in an effort. It was like something had entirely taken the wind out of his sails. He managed his push-ups just fine; he jogged in his lopsided, painful-looking way; he couldn't put much strength into the punching bag, but tried to look like he was at least trying... All the while the feelings that had kept him up the night before tugged all around the edges. He didn't think he had ever felt that pitiful... He prayed that it wasn't obvious... He knew it was. He wanted to vomit and go back to his room and sleep it off, but he knew it wouldn't help. He just had to tough through it. It was his own fault that it was happening, anyway. Not half-way through his work-out, a few others came into the gym. He tried not to look, but found his eyes drawn to smooth, ebony skin and a thick head of curly hair. His face went a little lopsided as he tried to correct himself, an obvious tell that he'd lost his train of thought and something McCree had learned quickly to read.

"You are just dead weight today," The southerner commented with a sigh.

"Mm. Sorry. Kinda sleepy, I guess."

"Yeah?" McCree's mouth moved from side to side in his own thoughtful habit before it spread into a smile and his eyes flickered with the kind of glint that made Junkrat's stomach tighten unpleasantly. "Then why don't we wake you up a bit." He lifted his right hand and beckoned someone over. Jamison knew exactly who it is even before the name left his mouth and the horrible tightness intensified. "Lucio! Come'ere! Need you to help me with somethin'."

' _Oh Bloody Hell...'_ The Brazilian jogged over with his own conflicted expression, something Jamison tried desperately not to meet; however, he found himself locking eyes with the young man for a single moment that sent a chill down his spine. Jesse grabbed both of their shoulders with the same grin plastered on his face. "I think we have a chance to kill two birds with one stone, here, fellas. There's been some tension between the two of you-understandably- and I think we can channel that into something constructive." They locked eyes again and accompanying plenty of other feelings in Jamison's gut, they shared an air of apprehension, something Lucio must've noted because he cocked a brow in confusion. The Junker knew he must've looked out of sorts. "Come on." Before either of them could protest, the southerner lead them over to the boxing ring and tossed them each a pair of padded cloves from the equipment stand. Possibly out of sheer bewilderment, they both started to put them on wordlessly. Jamison managed to get one of them on his left hand just fine, but found that the other glove wasn't going onto his right so easily. It probably wasn't designed for artificial limbs as bulky as his. It was his wrist that seemed to be the problem as the large disk that made up the joint was far too wide for the velcro strap to be secured around and, thus, the glove itself wouldn't stay on. He continued to try, however.

Jesse watched him for a minute or so before he gently took the glove from him. He had another glint in his eye and Jamison hated it even more than the first time. "Don't worry about it," the man said. Lucio quickly glared at him with a shocked expression.

"What?"

Jesse smiled at him reassuringly. "Don't worry about it. Get in the ring." Lucio continued the look but put out his arms in a 'what the hell' motion. Jesse only nodded towards the ring in a silent repetition of his previous verbal command. In nervous resignation, he finally entered the ring and stood opposite to the Australian who looked strangely weary. From his own corner, Jamison only wondered what was going through his opponent's head. Somewhere in there, perhaps he was excited for the very opportunity to hit him again. Evoking such a feeling had been the goal originally, anyway; however, Lucio looked like he didn't want to be there, like he didn't at all fancy the idea. Jamison would be a liar if he said the mere look in his face didn't send a small pang of guilt through him, but the feeling went away quickly when McCree settled himself on the ropes between them. "Alright, so, Jamison and I have been doing a few hand-to-hand drills, but he's never been in the ring with anyone. Let's just see how he can handle himself." He addressed the smaller man only before turning to the other and simply looking at him expectantly. Junkrat nodded his less than enthusiastic confirmation. Jesse nodded back and clapped his hands together. Both men took that as the signal to start.

Jamison quickly set an awkward stance with his right side turned almost entirely towards Lucio who advanced normally. The Australian took only a couple of steps, but let the smaller close the rest of the distance. Shockingly, Lucio wasn't hesitant. He wasn't deliberately going in to hurt, obviously, but he wasn't scared. He took quick advantage of Junkrat's strange position and managed to land a few good hits into the taller man's side and shoulder. In response, Jamison only curled up and kept his mid-section as away from the other as possible before finally getting into the rhythm and blocking a few of Lucio's punches with his right arm. The padding would protect the Brazilian's hand from the brunt of the metal impact. He couldn't stop a lot of the hits, however, and soon became tired of having his right side smacked to hell. He went to try and cock back in a sneaking preparation, but he leaned out too much and the way he caught himself with a little bit of a hop was a dead give-away. In spite of this, he still attempted a swing with his left hand and shouldn't have been surprised when it only swiped air. Lucio took advantage of the window before Jamison could recoil back into his protective stance by sending a good, solid swing right into Jamison's stomach. The impact sent the larger man back with a gasp and no time to recover before a second punch to the side of the head knocked him right onto his ass. The force behind it wasn't too bad, the smaller was obviously holding back, but feeling at least a solid punch dig right into his bruise was enough of a shock to disorient him.

"Common, Fawkes! You're acting like a scared little kid!" Jesse's 'encouragement' only threw straw onto the smolder of his building frustration. He had always liked to say he could hold his own in a one-on-one but, time and time again, people came along to call his bluff. Lucio was considerably smaller than him, too. His mind flew back to the parking lot at the mall where, in spite of the size difference, Lucio had managed to take a good beating and still put up one hell of a fight. He knew how to manage larger opponents and Jamison couldn't hardly manage any in hand-to-hand. Damn it, Jesse was just trying to get him to make a fool of himself, wasn't he? He already wouldn't put it past him. Before he could ponder the concept anymore, Jamison found himself stumbling back again and nearly tipped right back onto the canvas if it weren't for an awkward shuffle he did to put his peg back down and flatten his only actual foot. He got his right arm up just in time to deflect another punch by swatting it away. "I wanna see you fight! Come on!" As if on command, Jamison attempted to swing again and this time his fist connected with Lucio's shoulder, but Lucio had thrown it in intentionally to take the hit and then turned the other way and landed a blow to Jamison's right side. This time it hurt. It REALLY hurt. He doubled over on it and inadvertently made his head an open target. The fist slammed right into his temple and collapsed him onto his stomach.

Once his brain had caught up with what had happened, he growled and rolled onto his back. He got upright again and came right back at the smaller man in a corrected stance. He was going on the offensive now. Lucio met Jamison's newfound aggression with his own, something that seemed counter to what Jamison thought he would do, but it only seemed to pay off. Now more exposed, Jamison's chest and mid-section started taking a beating with the smaller man getting in close and not letting Jamison use his size against him. Lucio was quick. Every time Jamison tried to duck back and regain some distance to defend or counter, Lucio would slip in and keep forcing him to either move or take it. Junkrat finally had to stop when he back reached the ropes. He managed to get his right arm up and deflect a few hits that allowed him to twist out and slip around back into the ring, but his escape was short lived as Lucio swept out a leg and knocked Jamison right onto his back again. Out of sheer frustration, the Australian kicked out with his boot and actually managed to snap the other's shin back. Jamison got to his feet, slipped past an attempted punch and landed one of his own against the Brazilian's un-braced shoulder. In that, he couldn't help but smile and watch the other recoil and retreat back a few steps. He grained some ground and chased him into the center with another swing that Lucio had to awkwardly swat away. Lucio was losing some composure and Jamison was quick to exploit it, landing some hits. It was the other's turn to back up.

The streak was over not long after it began, however, as Lucio found his footing again, spun out of Jamison's reach and slammed his fist into the blond's cheek. The bruise burned savagely and caused Jamison to recoil just long enough for Lucio to come back onto him again with a string of quick, precise punches. _Oh, no. I am NOT lettin' you start this up again!_ Jamison swiftly spun back and cocked his right arm far over his shoulder. The muscles of his upper arm tensed on the wind up and his shoulder twitched as though his arm were about to move... but it didn't. There was a single moment of clarity that washed clean over the junker's mind. It showed past the exhaustion, the pain and the burning frustration. _Don't do that_. In that second of hesitation, Lucio cocked back and landed one last hit to Jamison's skull. The larger man fell back and allowed himself to slump against the ropes. He knew when he was beat. So did Jesse. The southerner clapped again and sighed.

"That's enough. Good fight, fellas."

 _Don't be so generous_ Jamison couldn't help but think.

"You two take a breather. I'll get some water." McCree hopped down and walked from the main gym floor to the doors that lead to the locker room. Jamison watched him leave before setting his head against the rope and closing his eyes. Not even a second into relaxing, Junkrat felt the canvas shift and opened them to see Lucio settling down next to him... Close to him. He didn't know what to think of it.

"I'm... Sorry... For punching you in the face."

He was going to be sick. _No. No, don't apologize for that. God damn it, don't do that._ His chest fluttered in panic. "We're... Boxin'. Yer suppose to do that." He hoped beyond reason that he'd misinterpreted the apology. Hoped that Lucio wasn't actually apologizing for what Jamison had actually tried to get him to do.

"Don't be a smart-ass. You know what I mean." For fuck's sake, he didn't have the energy for this. He didn't even know what to say. _You just gonna beg him to hate you?_ "I really didn't mean it. I was frustrated..." _God, and he sounds so ashamed, too. Why are you doing this? Why can't you be content with treating me like everyone else is?_

"Tree Frog-" _No no no. Don't you try to apologize, too. You know you're not sorry. You wanted this._ He let the words go unsaid, his mouth hanging agape for a moment before he had to consciously close it. Then Lucio smiled. He smiled a soft, kind, genuine smile that made Jamison pray to whatever could hear him that he didn't look in his direction.

"You know, I like that nickname." With all his might, he tried to compose himself and forced out one of his sly expressions. Maybe the other wouldn't notice the strain.

"Cobber, bein' all sweet now isn't gonna prove me wrong."

Lucio smiled right. At. Him. Jamison felt his own fake smile twitch and threaten to melt right off his burning face. The Brazilian shrugged. "Maybe I'm not trying to redeem myself. Maybe I don't have to. Maybe I just want to be nice."

Jamison scoffed. By then, McCree returned with two bottles of water and tossed each of them one. Jamison downed his own in seconds and Lucio was content to just swallow a little at a time. "Fawkes, you and I need to work on hand-to-hand combat. Tomorrow, real training begins."

"Meh. Won't argue. I sucked." The warm chuckle that left Lucio's mouth just about made the Junker want to roll over and die.

* * *

Lucio looked over a small collection of bruises that he'd gotten from his little match with Junkrat. They weren't anything that wouldn't fade in a day or two and they could've been so much worse. At that thought, he smiled. He knew then what Jesse had been trying to do, what he'd been trying to prove, even if Jamison didn't see it. Junkrat might've sworn up and down that everyone was an asshole on the inside, but now Lucio had his own game to counter with. What happened in the ring was his trump card.


	6. Bullets

A large section of lightless city was a familiar sight in the distance. It was like the entire rest of the area had placed that zone in a bubble and turned away with its fingers in its ears. He didn't blame them. There was nothing the rest of them could do. The shuttle swayed into position over the highway just outside the target area and four agents hopped out, dressed a little differently from their normal opperation attire. Lucio wore a black body-suit under black cargo pants which were mostly covered by his armor with its lights set as dim as he could get them. Hanzo wore a similar outfit but his was slightly modified to integrate his special boots that gave him more grip when scaling surfaces. The Brazilian really wanted to ask him to elaborate how they worked on day. Lena was an obvious choice to join the strike team and sported a tight-black suit and armor tailored for minimal wind-resistance. Finally, there was Bastion. They couldn't necessarily give the omnic clothes and repainting him to match the task whenever he was needed was far too expensive for Overwatch's current means. As a result, Bastion remained very... the word "vanilla" came to mind and he wasn't sure if that was proper terminology. He let it stick, nonetheless.

As soon as they were on the ground, Lena hopped onto Bastion's back and gave the other two a salute. "See you gents at the converge." They vanished among the buildings with the little, metallic thuds of the omnic's feet growing quieter and quieter between distance and noise pollution from the active part of the city around them. Lucio returned the gesture and Hanzo said nothing, opting to move on without formality. The older man was something of a rogue element for most of the team. Hanzo kept quiet and out of the way, but also made it known that he had opinions and wasn't afraid to share them. He also breathed an air of patience, but proved to be an easily-irritable hot-head. No one was sure how to handle him quite yet. He was almost as new as Jamison and was equally as foreign in personality. As they made their way towards their rally point, Hanzo made quick work of scaling vertical walls and hopping buildings while Lucio kept just head using the walls as a grinding surface and jumping between them. Upon nearly traversing the entire space required, Lucio grabbed the ledge of an open window and slipped inside. Hanzo soon followed after dropping down from the roof. They slipped around furniture and to another window across the abandoned home where they stopped and watched the street.

Talon soldiers marched up and down the drive, assault rifles and combat shot-guns in hand. "That is more than we expected..." Hanzo's cool voice chimed from the darkness, strong features barely illuminated by the rays of nightlight. Lucio merely nodded and watched for some moments longer. "Hrmf... It changes nothing." He slipped around the other and marched to the other end of the house with determination. He opened a window the looked onto the wall of the building across the alley and hopped up to scale it. The Brazilian watched him go. He sure as hell was confident. Lucio turned and left out the way Hanzo had gone and knew he couldn't risk his previous method of movement anymore. He climbed the window sills to the roof and pressed a switch on his hip. The skates retracted into the boots and the bottoms flattened out. In this new mode, he could run and jump along the buildings more fluently while also not drawing attention. It wasn't long before he caught up with the older Shimada brother who was perched overlooking a round-about below.

"Do you see them?" Lucio asked, seeing that Hanzo's eyes were squinted and staring into the darkness beyond the agents rather than at them.

"No." The Brazilian scowled slightly and tried to follow his eyes which appeared to glare off into an alley on the other side of the circular street. He didn't expect them to get to their point too quickly, even with Lena as one-half of the unit. He backed up and skirted around Hanzo's back to grab the railing placed along the confines of a maintenance shaft and lean out ever so slightly. As far as he could see, little red indicators bobbed around streets or swayed casually in waiting. The building they were on wasn't tall enough to confirm visually, but he knew they all collected in a radius around one of the taller high-rises. In spite of the darkness created through night-air and overcast skies, Lucio could catch the shape of the building in the distance. "They have arrived." He caught Hanzo's movement before his voice and preemptively set his legs into motion. They jogged side-by-side for a few feet before Hanzo created distance with a precise jump from one roof to the next, one that Lucio couldn't quite emulate. He caught the edge of the roof with his hands and pulled himself up at a delay and tried his best to bridge the growing gap. All the while, both groups skirted around each side of the darkened quadrant towards the aforementioned high-rise.

Once more, they had to stop and Hanzo cautiously took hold of Lucio's arm and dragged him behind the cover of a stair-well exit out of instinct. Long-coated figures were perched sporadically on the inner perimeter. Hanzo clicked a button on his communicator. It made a simple, quiet beep that the Brazilian could hear in his own left ear. The Asian peered around and watched said figures for a few minutes before speaking. "They have a system, it seems." He pointed demonstratively to each agent. Following his finger, Lucio watched as one sniper stopped in his tracks and then pointed a laser across to an adjacent agent. This agent pointed a laser of his own to another along the line and the next noted the signal and gave one of his own to the next. Hanzo drew his finger back to the first and Lucio could see his lips moving in a silent count. At three-hundred, the first agent gave the signal again and the cycle began.

"They're keeping track of each other... But... Doesn't that make them more visible?"

Hanzo nodded. "They are sacrificing secrecy for safety and that complicates things slightly."

"Okay... What do you suggest we do?"

"Wait." Knowing Shimada's background, Lucio felt he could trust the man's tactical sense. He pulled back and hunkered himself low at the other's side, watching him attentively between peeks at the snipers. This concentration was momentarily interrupted by a small, cold tap on his cheek. He looked up and caught another tap on his eye-lid. These taps soon gave way to a steady stream of wet patters. "...For that," Hanzo finishes without it being overly obvious that his previous answer was yet to be completed. He pointed to the snipers again and Lucio couldn't help but note that they took a few seconds longer to confirm each signal. The rain must've made using their scopes considerably more difficult. Hanzo dragged Lucio along a short ways before trusting him to follow as intended. They stood and watched the nearest agent and, as soon as he began his signal, Hanzo leaped from the roof and hopped across to the next roof and skirted the building behind him. Lucio wasn't far behind and was caught by the other as soon as they reached another area of cover, this time a sign. This process repeated a few times, them noting which snipers they were in the line of sight for and waited for the distracting signal. This managed to get them fairly close to the building, to the point where they were able to jump down into an alley and see the front doors... the heavily guarded, front doors.

"Let's see if that... Ruffian's plan actually works." Lucio tries not to smile when he hears the affront leave Hanzo's mouth. Hanzo reaches up and presses the button again, holding it longer this time. Moments later, right on queue, explosions started to rip out among the buildings. They weren't random or large enough to cause real damage, but they were certainly enough to draw attention. Some of the guards that had been at a side door of the complex skirted around quickly to get a better look and THAT was their window. Hanzo and Lucio darted around to the door and closed the distance quickly. They slipped inside and breathed careful sighs in the clinical-smelling air of the staff corridor. It wasn't a good time to rest, however. They padded their way to the end of the hall and came to another closed door, one they weren't keen on opening quite yet. Hanzo slipped an arrow from the quiver on his back and his phone from his pocket. He pressed the arrow's spider-like head into the wall next to the door and twisted the tail some before looking down at his phone. Lucio watched around his shoulder as figures began to come into view on the screen along with a very un-detailed version of the atrium. Many slightly blurry lumps moved about beyond and this caused the archer to scowl. "That way is NOT an option." He pulled the arrow off the wall and tucked both it and the phone away.

"That a better option?" The Brazilian pointed to a decently-sized vent on the floor back towards the entrance.

Hanzo considered it objectionably with a sharp sneer. "I wouldn't fit through that with all of my equipment. Neither would you."

"I don't need the skates. I could probably get myself and my gun through."

"And do what?"

"Get you another window."

Another slightly raised lip. "How?"

"I dunno," Lucio admitted. "But it's our best option right now." For a moment, Hanzo looked beyond simple objection, but in that moment of consideration in the empty hallway, he couldn't help but nod and agree.

"Unfortunately so. Get on with it. Don't get yourself killed." It was as close to encouragement as anyone was going to get from him. Lucio got to the task of peeling his newly rebuilt armor away and setting it aside. As soon as it was free from his body, the parts came together and folded up into a cube about two feet tall. It was a bitch to lug around in that shape, but risking losing it here was better than losing what they came here for. Lucio rearranged his gun so that it was strapped just below the small of his back and then used his pocket-knife to peel the grate of the vent from the shaft. He slid his way in and found a long string of different ducts sprawled before him. The space was uncomfortably tight and cold beyond reason against his mostly bare arms, but discomfort were things he was beyond willing to weather for this mission. On his stomach and bending very unnaturally in an attempt to wriggle along, Lucio did his best to make his way inward towards the center of the building. His eyes caught many shafts of light and would stop to listen through them only to find that they lead into the packed atrium. All the while, his wet skin started to reach the valley between soaked and dry where it clung and lightly stuck to the aluminum walls of the ducts. With the additional noise this generated, the Brazilian had to make sure to stray away from openings until he knew he was away from Hanzo.

One line that he followed on a whim lead to a shaft that traveled vertically with tiny ledges poking from the main line. Lucio could reach the lowest one and managed to pull himself up onto it. He followed this line for some time longer before reaching another grate. Lucio was careful to slide his way up to it as quietly as possible to peer into what looked like a quiet, cheap-hotel-like hallway. The floor was carpeted with a pattern of grey and white that clashed oddly with the brown walls. He knew there were camera's there. He knew he had to be sure when he busted out. He didn't have his skates, but he had his gun, meaning his methods had to change. Lucio rolled as much as he could onto his left side and managed to maneuver his weapon into his right hand and bring it in front of him. The rim of the dish tapped the grate lightly as he settled it. He laid back onto his stomach and pressed his left hand to the grate. After that, he waited. He waited in silence with ears perked and eyes drawn sharply to the entire length of the hallway.

With a deep intake of air, the Brazilian stiffened his palm drew it back and slammed it into the grate. It dented outwards considerably, but not enough to break it open. He repeated the process. The dent was much more defined, but still not enough. He did it again and again and again, nerves becoming strained and shivering with each strike until the grate finally gave way and Lucio slid out into the open. He braced for what was inevitably next, knowing full well that it was coming but still finding himself tugged with a pang of panic at the alarm. Like clockwork, heavy boots came thundering from corners and doorways and Lucio bolted like a demon because, damn it, his life actually depended on it. He made a point of twisting around hallways, swinging open doors and tipping whatever he could grab, not seeing the men behind him, but hearing the horrible, sickeningly heavy thuds of their boots. In spite of the cushioning of the carpet, the sound was like thunder. They didn't call after him, they did shoot, they didn't speak and barely made even a huff in their strenuous sprint. They were merely there and closing.

The Brazilian finally looped around to a walkway that crossed the open atrium. It looked down on the lobby below beyond glass railings and gave anyone down there a clear view of him. To no surprise, bullets wizzed past his head and back, only missing by inches and even halves of that before he was covered by the walls around the elevators and stairwell. Lucio slung himself into the stairwell and slid down the railing on his thighs. The boots continued after him and even began to fire rounds of their own, apparently seeing the abandon of their colleagues as permission. He managed to reach the bottom and slam through the door, already having his gun up. He pressed a button on the side and pulled the trigger which launched the men waiting for him back in a wave of green energy. He used the delay to hop over them and twisted past seats, tables, desks and other small, decorative walls as cover from the resuming gunfire. He made his way to the end of the room and through a pair of double doors. Once inside, Lucio blanched.

It was a "ballroom"- Aka, a massive, open space. He locked the doors as his only means of delaying his pursuers and bolted across the space to a single staff-door in the back. He grabbed the handle, twisted and paled further. Locked. Lucio slammed his hand down on the handle a few times in an attempted to break it, but the length of metal remained firm. The slamming on the metal doors behind him did little to help his concentration. He pulled up his gun, switched the mod and pressed the disk to the lock. If bullets didn't really work on locks, there was no telling what the effect of his might be, but it was better than waiting and trying to fight back. He pulled the trigger and the disk shook and pulsed with a flash of green ripples and reverberating. The handle gave way and Lucio wrenched the door back and tore down the hall beyond. In his sprint, he saw so many exit signs... so many windows. He was in the ground floor and could so easily jump from them, so easily reach what felt like safety. "God, Hanzo hurry up, please," he found himself beseeching to no one.

The sound of a bullet leaving the chamber was nauseating enough, but the white-hot anguish of lead through soft flesh was a horror he'd only be able to compare to one other incident in recent memory. Lucio yelped and slammed forward mid-sprint as his leg gave out. He rolled onto his back to grip at the wound in his calf and finally put a body to the boots. Talon armor glared down at him through slit visors and guns remained trained at his eyes. He could see his reflection in black breastplates and practically feel the head from red-lights on his bare arms. The closed in on him at dizzying speed, enough to cause his heart to leap before his brain even knew what was going in. Still, he had enough sense to roll over and keep his gun pressed protectively into his stomach. A gloved hand grabbed hold of his hair and attempted to hoist him up, but only managed to roll his wincing, coiled body into a sitting position. Hot gun metal bore into his cheek accompanied by a raspy, angry, huffing voice.

"Where are the others?" Panic, pain and desperation all melted together in the best solution he could muster.

"Eu não falo inglês." The side of the gun and some of the armored knuckles slammed hard into his temple, slicing a gash through the skin. In his recoil, Lucio's hands fisted the metal in his own hands.

"Don't give me that shit! Where are they?"

"Eu não sei o que você está dizendo!" Another strike, this one hard enough to make his breath hitch and head spin thoughtlessly for a moment.

"The next words you say better be English or I am painting the wall with your brains!" Thumb and fore-finger found a dial and quickly twisted it far forward. He managed to uncoil himself and turn his body just enough to face the disk at the agent. Before the other could even think to react, Lucio pulled the trigger. The shockwave sent the other man flying and the recoil blasted the stock into the wielder's chest with a gasp. The Brazilian rolled before laying flat for far too long. The three men who had been behind the first were also blast back and they three sat confused against the far wall.

 _You gotta move. You gotta move. You gotta move!_ He managed to struggle onto one leg and drag himself over to one of the windows. He didn't put any thought or care into slamming it open and slipping out onto the pavement below. It was a stark contrast from the inside of the high-rise to the pouring, deafening rain. He didn't even hear his own lungs in his chest over the continuous streams of water and almost didn't hear the long, monotonous beep in his ear. Two other beeps followed the first in quick succession and he brought his own hand to his earpiece to chime in with his own. At that point, his head had cleared enough to find his bearings and take quick note of the horrible throbbing pain in his head and calf. Once again, he couldn't make it out unscathed. He managed to his feet again and rounded the side the building, using the wall as a support. He gave three beeps on his earpiece in quick succession and these were responded to with three others. At the end of the wall, he found himself met with strong hands on his upper arms, hands that maneuvered him around before taking a hold of one of his thighs. Hanzo hoisted the Brazilian over his shoulders and bolted as fast as he could into an alley beyond the building, a case clipped to his quiver (something Lucio gladly noted.)

"When I said for you not to get yourself killed, I thought the 'don't get hurt, either' part was heavily implied."

Lucio laughed. "A small price to pay."

Hanzo tilted his head in resigned agreement. "I suppose so."

* * *

Lucio saw that sharp, toothy cringe from across the med-bay. It was parts sympathetic and other parts amused, but he was still too deep in the afterglow of a successful OPP to let it bother him. He simply smiled and shrugged back, locking eyes with the other. Jamison was there getting a shot for something Lucio hoped wasn't contagious and Jesse sat next to his bed with a disapproving glare mixed with a soft smile. "Guessin' things worked well otherwise?" McCree asked. The Brazilian nodded.

"Yep. For the most part, your plan worked like a charm. Hanzo was the star out there last night."

He adjusted his hat idly. "Knew he would be. I could tell he's been itchin' to make his mark here, anyway." The smaller man smiled and laid his head back, letting his eyes drift around in both exhaustion and thought. "Wish you'd stop gettin' hurt, though. I guess last time threw you for a bit of a loop, but being reckless like that isn't worth it. Not by a long shot." He readjusted his gaze to meet Jesse's.

"I couldn't see another way. We couldn't waste time out there. We went in with limited knowledge and I think we did the best we could with the limited info." The other sighed and stood from his chair.

"That case is valuable, but it isn't worth more than your life, son. Prioritize." His tone was cold as he turned and walked from the room. The pit it left in his gut was a stew of emotions. Looking back on the night before, he couldn't help but recall an underlying wall of determination in his brain. It sectioned off any idea of failure and put it far out of earshot. After his first mission was only half of a success by way of his own fuck-up, he hadn't wanted to fail. The desire was so firm, in fact, that he put even thoughts of himself from his mind. Perhaps his funk wasn't over quite yet.

"What caliber?" Lucio looked across the room at Jamison who stared back expectantly.

"What?"

"What caliber? Ya know... were ya shot with."

"Oh... Uh... forty-five ACP, I think. Looked like a glock thirty-six, but I'm not an expert."

The other snorted in a half-laugh. "Better guess at a glance than I could give, probably. I got shot with a nine millimeter once. Right in the shoulder. Friend was cuttin' up with th' gun in his hand and ended up miss-firin'. Missed me head by inches. Still got the scar." He turned on the swivel stool to prod at a line of slightly lighter skin pointing up towards his collar. When Lucio squinted, he rolled closer, coming up right next to his bed.

"Shit. How old was he?"

We was both thirteen. I had the sense not to mess with firearms 'till I was seventeen, at least. Got to experience most of me life with all me faculties." He wiggled his fake right hand with a smile that seemed far too amused for the subject matter.

"Doesn't that make it worse, though? you knew what it was like and then lost it?"

"Well, sure, but... I'd rather tell people I miss it than tell them I can't remember it."

"Why?"

Jamison shrugged. "I dunno. Not rememberin' seems... sadder, I guess... T'me, at least." At that moment, it struck the Brazilian just how much of a god-damned bowl of mixed signals Jamison really was. The other day, he was acting like he didn't want anything to do with him and now here he was talking to him as energetically and open as he had been on the first day. What was going on inside that wacky, golden head?

In spite of this realization, though, he continued without any indication of conflict. " How are things going here? With the training, I mean."

"Heh. I got fist-sized bruises all over me. It feels more like he's beatin' me up than teachin' me how to fight, sometimes. Never been a close-combat sorta guy, ye know. Never needed to be."

"You seemed to handle yourself just fine at the mall."

Junkrat paused momentarily, seemingly surprised that Lucio had even brought it up. "Well, ya'know, adrenaline is one hell of a chemical. 'Sides, you kicked my ass in the second round an' in he re-match."

The other laughed... Genuinely laughed and the smile only became stuck when then expression was mirrored. "I think it was just a fluke. If you had seen me last night, you would NOT have been impressed."

"I dunno, Tree Frog. I think you sell yourself short a bit. You've impressed me since the moment I got here... and it's mainly because I'm easily entertained." Lucio popped Jamison's arm in response to the jab on reflex and almost choked on how natural the playful response had come. The Australian chuckled back. It was warm... not shrill and loud like his laugh. It was... almost pleasant. Going back over the sound in his head, Lucio mentally shook his head. No... No, it certainly was a nice sound. He decided he liked. He liked it quite a bit. He turned his attention back to Jamison who was looking at him with a unreadable expression. It wasn't out of place, but certainly a little concerning. The man opened and closed his jaw nearly imperceptibly as though he was going to say something and then chose against it. It lengthened the silence until the heaviness became just about unbearable. _Say something. He's obviously at a loss. You'll make him feel weird and act off towards you again._

"So, uh... You still think... you still think I'm an asshole inside?" The smile curled up and Lucio's stomach jittered.

"Oh, you think a couple conversations are gonna make me rethink all those horrible things you said, Tree Frog? Not a chance."

"Come on, man. I didn't mean any of it... Well... Maybe I did at the time, but it wasn't right and it made me feel like shit. I'm sorry." The scrutiny on Junkrat's face had to have been intentionally comical. There was no way the man just naturally curled a thumb and forefinger about his chin and hummed when he genuinely considered something. There was no way the Brazilian could fight off the smile. The expression was so exaggerated that it was almost... He wouldn't let his brain finish that thought. "Well, you know what?" Jamison stopped for but a moment, his hand ghosting over its previous position and his face pulled into an anticipant glare. "I know for a fact that there's a _good_ person in _you._ " Jamison's loud, shrill laugh returned with a vengeance.

"Oh come on, love, you can't be serious. Fightin' fire with fire dun work if ya dun got any flint. If it wasn't news to you, ya dun got none."

"I don't huh?" Lucio gave a smug, knowing smile of his own. The expression lead to glint of something in Jamison's eyes, but the grin on his face never faltered.

"Nah, I dun thinks so, mate."

"Mmm... No, I think I have a blowtorch. Do you genuinely think that you're a bad person, Jamison?"

"Uh, yeh. I dun try to hide it."

"Well... Let me ask you something, then. When we were in the ring the other day, you wanted to win, right?"

"Oh, come off it. I didn't let you win."

"No, I don't think you did, but did you want to beat me in the match?"

"Course I did."

"Right. You could've decked me with that right hook you were winding up. Totally would've ended that match right then and there. I was recoiling and you had the upper hand, but you didn't do it. Why not?"

"Mate, this hand is made of metal! Metal! If I hit you with this it would'a-" He stopped, smile fading and eyes lighting up with realization all at once. The shift caused Lucio's own grin to grow exponentially and his heart to leap.

"It would've... hurt me, right?"

"I- Hol' up now-"

"It would've hurt me, though."

"Um.. Yeh, it would've hurt you, but that's not... I wasn't- That's not why!" A thick red blush stretched over Junkrat's cheeks and made it all the way to the tips of his ears.

"No, I think it is. I think you hesitated because you didn't want to hurt me."

"Well, no! I wouldn't just want to hurt you!" He cringed the second the words left his mouth. Jamison should've been in the bed next to him after shooting himself in the foot like that. "That doesn't mean I'm a good person."

Lucio shrugged. "And me saying some mean things one time doesn't make me an asshole. What it does mean, though, is that you _can_ be a good person. You have a conscience."

"I... Ugh... Fine, Tree Frog. You win. Touche." In a fit of wild resignation, Jamison threw up his hands and stood up. He looked like he was going to leave but stopped and turned back to him. "But you know what? Maybe it's just you!"

"Maybe what's just me?" Jamison offered no verbal response. Rather than rebuttal indignantly like he had been and what Lucio had expected him to do, the Junker grabbed the smaller man's right arm and yanked him upright. In a blur of motion and pure confusion, Lucio felt a pressure on his right cheek. It was soft in places, a little rough in others. A small patch of stubble brushed his skin among all of the sensations, finally making his brain catch up and wash his body in a raging heat of panic. Just as quickly as it appeared, the pressure was gone and Jamison bolted from the room like a grade-school boy might in a similar situation. He barely registered his absence as his brain was still stuck on the feeling... The unexpected softness... the suddenness... the fact that he wasn't repulsed... the fact that he had previously imagined what it might feel like and, even worse, that it wasn't anything like he'd expected... in a good way.

It could've been seconds or even minutes afterwords when Angela returned to the room and stopped three steps from the doorway. She looked around with a cocked brow before locking eyes with him. "Where did Cadet Fawkes, go?" Lucio only looked blankly at her with his mouth just barely agape.


	7. On Leave

He could feel the weight shift on the bench and hear the clearing throat even through his headphones. Hanzo removed one of the buds from his right ear and turned to glare at the brunet who had settled himself next to him with his back against the edge of the table. Jesse flicked his hat in an unceremonious greeting. "Howdy." The asian's eyes narrowed in annoyance and he tapped the surface with a testy finger.

"Hello, McCree." The soft smile on the other's face grew a little wider as he relaxed far too much into his position.

"Wanted to talk to ya' if that's alright." Hanzo's mind flashed back to previous interactions with the man and the good majority of him wasn't exactly charmed by his mannerisms. In fact, his very distinct manner of speaking was very much a grievance he wasn't opposed to voicing along with complaints of the man's newest 'project.' Still, he'd made an effort to be polite enough and as courteous as he could manage, so perhaps Hanzo at least owed him a moment.

"Very well." Jesse waited a moment in case anything followed before popping an easy grin and taking a preparatory breath.

"Thank ya. Winston told you what was in that box, right?"

"He mentioned something of it. A flash drive."

"Yup. Flash drive with some really interesting information on it. Sale documents, work orders and... interestingly enough and more importantly, coordinates." He placed what looked like a gum-wrapper on the table between them and slid it over to him. On it were written a set of numbers. "They point to a little coastal town in Tuscany. Isola del Giglio. Did a little digging and word on the street is that it's being used as a middle-man shipping port for talon OPPs in neighboring islands. On top of that, there is a very special cargo set to come into that port in a couple of days. Talon is really interested in buying it from one of their usual dealers who is quite the haggler. He's been keeping them on a constant back and forth for weeks and I think now is a good time cut through the center and make an... appealing counter offer." Hanzo eyed the paper and then arched a brow at him. Jesse's simple reply was a wink.

"And you are coming to me... because you want me to..."

"Come with me. I think you and I could make a really good sales pitch. Me with my good looks and you with your... charisma." The way his lip twitched gave away the sarcasm. Hanzo hummed.

"Does this... 'sales pitch' involve sneaking into the port and... 'persuading' the individual to hand over the item?" McCree took his right index finger and pressed it to his lips, smile never fading from his features. "I see. Do you need me specifically?"

"Your skill set is perfect for this little infiltration and, I gotta say, you were really impressive on your last mission. You're definitely my first pick, partner." He allowed a small smile to grace his lips for the acclaim. "That is... If you'd be willin'."

Another hum. "And what of your prisoner?"

Jesse nearly choked. "He's not my prisoner. I'm rehabilitatin' him. One less nut-case off the streets for good if I play my cards right."

"That is a monstrous 'if,' McCree."

"Sure, sure, but either way, Athena has an eye on 'im and he needs to feel like he has a little independence every now and again. Let him feel like we trust him. Are you in or not?"

* * *

Pinning down that slippery little weasel had never been anywhere near as difficult. When Lucio **didn't** want to be around him, he was every-fucking-where. " _He does shit like this, runs from me for almost an entire fucking week... Manages to get caught up in everything under the sun! He probably intentionally spilled that paint so he'd have to clean the hangar, for God's sake!_ " Everywhere he checked was everywhere that Jamison **wasn** **'t** and that only made it clear that **someone** had to have been helping him. There was no way that **Jamison** could manage this ducking and dodging all on his own. Hell, in the real world, he had a partner and said partner managed to get away, leaving his lanky companion to fend for himself. They all knew how well that went. " _Why am I even bothering?_ " In a single moment, in merely the time it took for a thought to register, Lucio began to slow. His stride, which had been heavy, angry and frustrated, became but a ghost of a walk before stopping entirely. He stood in the hallway just outside an empty break room, face puzzled. Why **was** he bothering? It had been nearly a week of trying to just... talk to him... demand an explanation, maybe. Surely, Jamison intended to remain immature and refuse to confront something he'd done out of haste or desperation, but why was Lucio playing along? Why was he chasing him? Did he really need the Junker's excuse that badly?

But a moment longer of contemplation gave him his answer. He'd seen plenty of infatuations in his time of being a celebrity. They were all just little crushes and weird obsessions born from some idealized fantasy in the bearer's head. He didn't need Jamison to explain himself. He already knew every excuse in the book. The blond might've known him a little more personally than most, but that wouldn't make a difference; however, somehow... that answer didn't satisfy him. In fact, it made him feel ever more irritated. Why didn't it satisfy him? Why did he still want to look? Why... why... why? Was something still wrong with him? Seemingly on autopilot, Lucio turned and began to walk back down the hall, not towards his intended destination. He needed privacy... to be alone. All of a sudden, he didn't want to be seen. He didn't want to be known to exist or know that other people existed... Yet, he also still wanted to find Jamison if only for the sake of winning whatever game was being played, but that desire was far outweighed by whatever the hell was going on now. It wasn't long before he found himself at his bedroom door.

Lucio ducked inside and made sure to lock it behind him. He didn't bother turning on the lights. He only sat on his bed, staring at himself in the mirror on the closet door. In minutes, it became a little foreign... in nearly an hour, he didn't even recognize himself. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed to know what was wrong. He needed to figure it out because any longer and he felt like he'd snap again. God only knew who it would be this time. If it wasn't Jamison, it would be Lena or Hana or Mei or Angela... Someone who didn't deserve it. " _Think... Think... What's changed?_ " The quick answer was 'nothing.' Nothing had really changed that could be linked to these new feelings. Jamison wasn't helping, but he wasn't the cause. He couldn't be. He was feeling uncharacteristic little pangs of irritation long before the Junker came into the picture... long before his first real mission, even. His training had gone well, he got along with nearly all of his team mates and those who he disagreed with didn't bother him. Hell, they didn't even dislike him from what he could tell. He was the person they came to to get cheering up, the person they came to to have a good time... The person they made jokes with and played games with... The person they all saw as reliable and positive... and good. He was good. Everyone thought he was good. He knew he tried to be. No, he didn't just **try** to be, he WAS. People didn't just think these things about him for no reason. He had never, for a single second, doubted who he was, who he wanted to be...

 _"This world is full of bad people, honey. There are a lot of them... so many, in fact, that a lot of people lose faith in the world. Sometimes, it really does seem like they're the majority... But, let me tell you something: Things are only hopeless if you say they are. As long as there is one person left on this planet who believed with all their heart that they can make a difference, it will never be hopeless."_

Those words were burned into his very soul. Since the moment he heard them, he swore that he would always be that single person. He swore that he would be a good person and see the good in others... But what was happening now? All of a sudden, he was judgmental and thinking horrible things about people he barely knew... Sure, he'd made a few rash assessments in the past- he was only human- but never to the level he'd done to Jamison. He'd never snapped the way he did, he never got irritated like this... He never felt so fucking horrible.

He never felt so trapped.

For the first time in the entire ordeal, Lucio finally had the word for it. He finally knew what to call his feeling. He was trapped. He was suffocating. He was powerless. The terms finally flowed like an open tap and yet he knew he was no closer to figuring out why... Why did he feel like he needed to make an effort to be nice? Why wasn't he making good decisions? Why was he rash and uncoordinated and angry? _"What the fuck is wrong with me?"_ The shaking in his hands had only then become noticeable. He gripped them together in a death-like vice, but that only made it worse. The shaking traveled up his arms and into his chest to create a vast, sinking, quaking pit. It work from there down to his knees until his entire body was an unstoppable mass of sloppy, tense vibrations. He couldn't breathe. He tried to take deep breaths and felt like he was choking, drowning, like he was going to die. Was he going to die? Was his entire body going to explode outwards like a wound spring and snap?

"Lucio!"

For a split second, the jump he gave in response to the voice genuinely made him believe that such a thing had just happened. He was dead, broken, twisted like an abused slinky! Then he came back down. He settled himself on the bed, hands clutching his chest and affirming that he was, in fact, still alive and together. He looked to the little light on the wall next to his door and all he could register was a small, almost imperceptible, relief. "Y-yes... Athena?" The light fluctuated.

"You need to go to Doctor Ziegler. Now." It was neither a suggestion nor a question. It was a firm, yet gentle order. Even so, he felt... angry about it.

"W-why? I thought you were suppose to be watching Jamie!" His voice cracked as soon as the nickname left his mouth. " _Am I... crying? Why am I crying?_ "

"I can multitask, but you need to go see her. You're not well."

"Where is he? Where has he been?"

"Lucio, no. You don't need to worry about him right now. You need to go see Angela."

"Fine! I will, but I want to know where he is! Tell me, Athena!"

"If I do, you'll go after him instead of getting help!"

He'd finally lost all sense of control. The build-up was overdone and he sprung just like he knew he would... the nature of the leap, however... was not at all how he thought it would feel. Boiling tears poured from his eyes, staining his cheeks and covering his lips in sickeningly-salty residue. His voice cracked and became something so horribly alien that he doubted that it was even his coming form his own mouth. "I know I need help! God damn it, I know!" It wasn't violent. It wasn't an explosion of rage, malice and hatred built up and thrown in all directions... It was fear... sorrow... a deep, sinking feeling finally allowed to fester in his gut... He felt... low. "I'll go see her." All of the volume and bite were gone from his voice. They left but a tinge of anxiousness in their void. The shaking hadn't stopped, however... not for a second. It continued as he stood on legs made of jelly and walked out the door... mindlessly down the hall... wordlessly into the clinic where Angela had to do a double-take to finally grip the absolute ruin on the young man's face. There was a split-second of something on her expression that was almost instantly blanketed by concern... Lucio could've sworn it was horror.

* * *

The paper sat between a lazy thumb and forefinger. It had once been crisp and new but was now a crumpled mess. It was still legible, but... looked like it had spent weeks in someone's pocket. He'd merely had it for around half an hour. He looked at it on the table-top, feeling some relief in the words printed upon it...

 _Lucio Correia dos Santos is to remain off-duty and out of the field until notice is given by Doctor Angela Ziegler. He is to remain on-base to be given psychiatric care and monitoring. Mister Correia dos Santos has shown signs of a moderate to severe panic attack and is considered "at-risk."_

At risk... What did that mean, exactly? He wasn't going to kill himself and Angela didn't quite explain it in words he understood. He'd be out of the field, however... That was good. His leg still hurt and she had scolded him for walking on it so much, so maybe this was a good chance to finally rest on his injuries entirely... He didn't feel obligated to be doing something useful every minute of his life. Lucio heard a sudden squelch behind him and turned to the door of the cafeteria. Jamison had stopped suddenly ands tried to turn around without being noticed, but had apparently misjudged the force of his pivot. He was still cringing when they locked eyes. Even though they were an entire room apart and Lucio had an injured leg, he didn't try to run. No, Jamison rubbed the back of his head and seemed to surrender, finally.

"Ahh... Hey, Tree Frog." He was crossing the room steadily and prattling on about something or another, eventually coming to something the other could understand. "Look, I know you been lookin' fer me an' whatever. Soz-" He stopped and stared. "Bloody hell, what... What happened to you? You... you look like death. Em... No offense or nothin'." Lucio shrugged. He couldn't tug the sag of his lips into even half of a smile. He felt so heavy... so exhausted. Jamison took a seat next to him, allowing him to turn around and lean on the table for support. An orange index finger tapped the paper and slid it a little closer to read. The Brazilian didn't stop him. Amber eyes shot up to meet his brown and he nearly jumped. The look was totally readable... He **knew** that look... and never expected in a million years that it would ever come from him. Lucio's hands started to shake very lightly again, something he stared at and felt his eyes begin to sting.

" _Please no... Not now. Not when **he's** here._" Jamison's right hand twitched... twitched like it was going to move, to do something and he was struck by the realization that... he wanted it to. Even if it was cold, lifeless metal... he wanted it to do **something**. That thought only made it worse and it took everything that Lucio had left in him not to cry right then and there. "I... Didn't cause this... do I?" He shook his head.

"No... I think... It's been going on since... long before you got here. I don't know what's causing it." A little relief crossed Jamison's face but that was quickly replaced by a very knowing, very sad expression as Lucio tried and failed to speak without his voice cracking into a million pieces. The final nail in the coffin was the Junker's left hand crossing over his right and laying itself gingerly over his wrist. Lucio couldn't stop the tears. He managed to hold back sobs, but couldn't do the same with the burning liquid trailing over the contours of his cheeks. They stayed silent and still for a long time... all the while, Jamison having that same, aware expression.

"Uhm... Hey," The Junker broke in, possibly a little louder than he had wanted to. The Brazilian looked at him. "You... You need a distraction!" A smile joined in with his now bright and jovial tone. It was fake. It was so fake, but damn it if he didn't appreciate it. "How 'bout you an' I head to the lounge and play somethin'. I've been wantin' to play with someone but, you know... No one really wants to play... with me." He smiled with a tinge of cringe and it actually made Lucio's lip tug upwards a little.

"Sure." As Jamison was about to jump up, the Brazilian twisted his hand to grab the wrist of the hand that had been touching him. "Right after we talk." The look on the Australian's face was pure, shameful guilt. "You wanna explain yourself?" The other man pressed the heel of the palm to his mouth, causing his words to be a little muffled.

"Talkin' about this now is gonna make playin' video games really awkward."

"We'll manage."

"Well... What do you want me to say, Tree Frog? You know why I, you know... did what I did. It's pretty obvious. Why do I need to say it?"

"Because I want to hear you say it."

"Bu- Why?"

"I just... I dunno..." He pressed his cheek into a propped-up hand. "I just do." Jamison sighed and scowled down at his fists on the table.

"Right... Well, do ya want it in the delicate way or the honest way?"

"Honest."

The Australian chuckled that soft, warm chuckle and a wash of red overtook almost his entire face. What he said next was said with far too much confidence. So much so that it and the unexpectedness of his terminology made Lucio's heart skip ten beats. "I want to rail you." Out of sheer surprise, Lucio slammed a fist down on the table while holding back some mixture of a shout and cough. Jamison laughed. "You said you wanted the honest answer!"

"I said 'honest' not 'blunt'!" he managed to wheeze between laughing. "Holy shit!"

"Well, soz! I'm not very eloquent. You're a celebrity, though. People probably say it to you all the time!"

"I dunno, I just- It feels different coming from you."

"Well, whatever! Ya heard me say it, so can we please go and get on with our awkward video game?"

Lucio scoffed and managed to catch his breath. "Yeah. Yeah, let's go."

* * *

"That's cheap! That's cheap, you fucking cheater!" He didn't know why he was okay with this... Why he was sitting on the couch, playing Mortal Kombat with Jamison, smiling and laughing like they were actually friends... They weren't friends, but maybe he did like the man... Enough to be civil.

"It's not cheating if the game let's me do it!" And why the sudden change? Why did 'Junkrat' go from avoiding him and being mean to him to being nice and deliberately wanting to spend time with him? Why was he mean in the first place if he wanted to... "be intimate?" (there was no politer way to say that in his mind.) Why didn't his confession bother him? Maybe it was because he knew the answer already and had previously come to terms with it? Sure, but, again, why was he doing this? Why? More and more questions arose from what he thought would be the catharsis... the end of it, the release. Now he was thinking new thoughts... Focusing on new things... some of them less than pure. No, he wasn't considering it, just... imagining it. It was the nature of human curiosity to do so. He wouldn't do it... He didn't **think** he would, but it didn't repulse him, make him turn away or anything of the sort. It felt like the kind of curiosity one got when they were told not to look at something gross but oddly enough wanted to look anyway.

"I can't move! You dick!" He found himself glancing from the screen every so often. He looked at those sharp, stark features, those big, wild eyes, that smile that was way too wide and crazy... Maybe he was just used to them... because he wasn't anywhere near as discomforted by them as he used to be. The junker sprung up in an excited, wild jig, laughing.

"Woo! Flawless victory! Didn't stand a chance, Tree Frog!"

"Only 'cause you played cheap!" They were being playful... or was Jamison overcompensating? Was he trying to forget what he'd said hours ago? Was he worried that any reminder or awkwardness would alienate Lucio? No. Probably not. Jamison was too confident for that. He moved shakily, acted erratic, but insecure was not a vibe he gave off. It was admirable. The next time the Brazilian looked up, he found those bright, flickering eyes trained on him. They seemed a little concerned. "What?" He sat back down next to the other, maybe a little closer, and seemed to be searching for something on Lucio's expression. "What?" Lucio repeated with a bit of a nervous laugh. He swore he felt his cheeks getting warmer.

"How do you feel?" He was a little taken back by the actual concern in his voice. Lucio shrugged and actually managed to put on a smile. He turned to look down at his hands still on the remote.

"Not exactly good, but... better. A lot better." He turned to meet Jamison's gaze. "Thank you." The Junker gave a smile of his own, toothy and tinged with bits of gold. It was comically wide and accented by a rise of Jamison's shoulders, everything combining into a wound-up, over-exaggerated expression. Lucio's own grin grew wider and a genuine laugh managed to escape his throat. It came easy and it really was a relief... even if only a little one. "You're such a dork."

"Dun flatter me, now." The longer they spoke, the more some pressing questions started to lodge themselves in his brain. Most were of the breed that he'd never voice, but one or two dared to make their way to the tip of his tongue.

"Why did you run? You know... after you... I mean, you seem so sure of yourself. It was weird." Jamison's smile faded as he rubbed the back of his neck with a metal palm.

"Not me best moment, I s'ppose. I don't really know why I ran, honestly. I just felt like I had to."

"Why? I don't bite. You kissed me, you didn't insult my mother or something. You were just fine telling me you wanted to bang me in the cafeteria." Junkrat barked a laugh.

"Yeh, yeh. I'm sorry, alright? I'm weird. Me brain dun work right a lot of the time. 'Sides, I was already caught at that point. Felt like I had a fifty-fifty shot of you being weirded out enough to shun me or somethin'. Had nothin' to lose."

"No, I don't shun people over inappropriate confessions and, like you said, I kinda did walk into that one." A knock on the doorframe drew them both out of their conversation and they both **prayed** that they were being quiet enough. McCree stood in the doorway, one hand holding an ice-pack to his right cheek and the other with its knuckles pressed to the opening. His face was covered in cuts, bruises and nicks and his bare fore-arms held-up about the same. "Jeez, Jesse. What happened to you?"

"It's not as bad as it looks." He turned his attention to Jamison. "Fawkes, I thought I could trust you to keep your schedule while I was gone."

"Em, soz, Cap. I was tryin' to, but this was kinda important." Jesse cocks a brow at the screen, causing Jamison to do a double take and return with a nervous chuckle. "No no, not this," He waved his hands over the image of Sub-Zero holding the still-bleeding head of his foe. "Lucio needed, eh... what would you call this?" He looked to the smaller man who huffed at him, trying not to laugh himself.

"Emotional support?"

"Uh. Sure. That."

McCree's expression didn't change. " **Lucio** needed emotional support?"

The Brazilian sighed. "I'll explain it later. He really was trying to help me." The slightly surprised look on Jesse's swollen face subsided after some minutes as he motioned for Jamison to follow him out into the hall. Junkrat huffed and stood, stopping to lean over Lucio.

"If you get to feelin' off again, dun be afraid to come to me. I got plenty of ideas on how to... distract you." He winked very prominently with a devious glint. Hell, it would be funny if Lucio didn't know the implications. He watched as the Junker walked from the room, waiting for him to be gone to curl in on himself and actually THINK about the questions that had been plaguing him and making his entire body burn.


	8. Royally Fucked

"L-l-listen, gentlemen, I think we can come to an agreement, right? Your organization is reasonable." Beady, nervous eyes stared back at the two men across his desk. Jesse was in a rather relaxed stance, thumbs hooked into belt loops. His cigar hung loosely from his lower-lip and even shifted between the corners of his mouth. Hanzo, on the other hand, stared the man down through the sights of his bow. His eyes were narrowed savagely. McCree had to admit that he looked a little menacing. He grinned. " _Only a little._ "

"Well, sure, partner. We're plenty reasonable, but you ain't exactly in our good graces. According to our sources, you've been supplying Talon with black-market goods for about three years." The man kept his hands up and close to his chest.

"It's only business, Mister McCree. Nothing at all as a slight to your group. I swear."

"Yes," Hanzo spoke up, the sudden inclusion of his voice causing his target to jump. "Some sell pottery at the market and others sell weapons to a terrorists organizations." At that, the man dared a huff of amusement, the fall of his barrel-chest causing Hanzo to pull back slightly on the string and remind his target of his position.

"Forgive me for having grander ambitions."

"Grander ambitions?" Jesse parroted, dropping a hand from his belt with a howl of a laugh. "Sir, you can have grander ambitions without enabling mass-murdering criminals. We're not here to talk morals, however, and we're not here to bring you to justice. Not yet, at least... That is... if you cooperate with our demands. All we want in exchange for your freedom and continued... _business_ is _this_ little crate." McCree flipped a data pad around to face the man, displaying a picture of a small, metal crate with the number fifty-six spray-painted on the side in blue. Shaky eyes darted from the image to Jesse in an instant. There was a twitch in his features, almost imperceptible, that gave McCree a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Ah. Th-that package. Of course." Hanzo glanced at Jesse from the corner of his eye for an second. He saw it two. The Asian leaned more on the desk, pulling back the string just a bit farther. His fiery eyes bore deep, boiling holes into his target's skull.

"Just tell us where it is and don't move," He growled.

"Right! Right. It's on platform seven by the tanker." No, it felt wrong. As soon as that man knew what they were after, his demeanor changed entirely, only keeping a vague facsimile of his previous fragility. Jesse bit the inside of his cheek and tossed the butt of his cigar onto the floor. His heel ground the ash into the concrete floor, the only sound in the horribly heavy silence. They stared at one another for what seemed like forever, only finally seeming to even blink when Jesse spoke again.

"You ain't gonna make this easy, are you..." There was no answer... Not a verbal one, but the silence spoke volumes. McCree only half turned his head to address Hanzo, eyes remaining fixed on the man in front of him. "Any thoughts, Cadet?"

Hanzo scoffed. "I think it is going to be a long night."

* * *

Lucio stood with the rest to see what was in the case and what McCree and Hanzo had gotten so beat up to bring home. It had to have been important, right? Jamison was to his right and was relatively close. He'd been keeping rather tightly to Lucio since the night before. "Hope I'm not botherin' ya too much. Jus' kinda bored, I s'ppose..." he had said around noon that day. The Brazilian reassured him that it was fine and it **really** was. He had already decided that he didn't plan on telling anyone that he didn't have to, thinking it best not to worry anyone who had actual work. Angela wasn't much of a fan of the idea at first, but soon agreed to lead everyone to believe that Lucio was doing work around the base rather than field assignments. With that in place, that made Jamison one of the few people who knew what was actually going on. It felt strange, overall. Jamison was the convict out of the group and one that Lucio didn't think he'd get along with, but now the man was part of a special group among the agents and one of the few he could openly talk to. With that, he decided he didn't mind if the Australian chose to stick to him like glue... even with the previous night's confession. The more he thought about last night, the more he realized he both cared and didn't and that only made him more confused and a little more frustrated. He cared enough to fret over it in his quiet minutes but he didn't know why while also not caring enough to stop Jamison from being near him, talking to him and any other interaction between them, direct or otherwise. Lucio was clinging for some reason... He knew. He just needed something to ground him and keep him out of his own head. If Jamison was that thing for the time being, okay.

He let the back of his hand drift to Jamison's, just a ghost of a touch that let him know he was actually still in the land of the waking. The hand didn't move away or move to do anything else. It just sat there, still and letting the slight whisper of contact remain, which the smaller man was very thankful for. Winston, after messing with the lock for a good fifteen minutes, finally got the lock to disengage. The sigh from the room came all at once. "Finally," the ape breathed, moving aside to allow everyone to see as he lifted the lid. The entire group leaned in and what Lucio saw was... perplexing. At its base, the object was a sphere made of shining metal similar to stainless steel in appearance. The smooth surface was only broken by lines cut through the outer plate to show bright, yellow lights humming from within. There was an axis pole sticking through the sphere and exiting the top and bottom in equal amount. From this axis, there were two half-rings attached- One smaller and one larger with the smaller fitted within the larger with generous room to move. Winston cupped the sphere in one large paw and the device nearly filled the entire thing. As soon as it was clearly visible to all of them, Lucio felt Junkrat's hand tense and then move away, breaking the contact. The Brazilian looked at him and found a blank expression and a very tense set to the man's body. It was startlingly out of place.

"Hmm... I haven't seen one of these since..." Winston trailed off and put the device back in the crate, closing it. "An interesting find, to say the least. Good job, you two." The disappointment and confusion was palpable. Obviously, many of those present hadn't a clue what the device was, Lucio included, and wanted some sort of explanation; however, Winston didn't seem open for discussion as he quickly-but calmly- lifted the crate and carried it with him out of the meeting hall. He was, no doubt, moving it to his lab if its importance was to be believed. It was on a delay that the Brazilian realized that Jamison had left his side. He hadn't gone far- just to the door and looked to be waiting- but it was a first for the day. They rejoined at the door wand managed to get out into the hall where they others had exited and were talking some feet ahead of the pair. The day had also brought strange looks from the rest, all silently questioning his choice of company, he was certain. Well... it wasn't **his** choice, in all honesty, and it wasn't his fault that the rest decided to give Jamison a wide buffer that subsequently had alienated Lucio as well. With the previous week's issues settled, Jamison had been mostly pleasant company and the man **could** be funny... that is, in his own flamboyant way that many might not have found alluring. Regardless, perhaps limiting his socialization for the time being was the best option.

Luckily, Jesse had given Jamison the day off on account of him being sore as all hell. They knew it was bad when the man started walking with an even **more** lopsided gate than before and could barely lift his own right arm. The way the junker had limped on **both** legs into the dining hall for breakfast that morning had been a spectacle. He was still walking a little funny, but had gotten accustomed to the aching enough to right himself into a more normal cycle of movement. The strange silence from him had't receded, though. "Hey," the smaller tried, cocking his head over to try and reach Jamison's peripheral. The much taller man looked down at him but gave no verbal indication. "You alright? You've been real quiet." That drew out a intentionally wide, shut-eyed grin.

"Course. Jus' a little distracted. Dun worry about me, Treefrog." The tone was even- normal enough for Jamison. It sounded honest.

"Yeah? What'cha thinking about?"

"Wouldn't you like ta' know."

"Mmmm, I would... Maybe." He tacked the last part on a little hastily as he saw the junker's lips move to speak. He recalled the man's affinity for bluntness. Junkrat laughed and patted his shoulder with his left hand.

"I dun think about that kinda stuff in public, Treefrog. Relax."

" **So** not what I meant." He laughed as he said it and it was a total lie.

"Sure, mate. What ya wanna get up to now? Got any good ways to spend a sickie?"

"A what?"

"A sickie. You know... Uh... Day off from work."

"Ahh. Well, if you want to play some video games again, we can do that, but aside from physical activities, which you are trying to avoid, we can just wander or build a pillow fort or something."

"I mean... the pillow fort is temptin,' but I'm itching to explore a bit. I saw a trail that leads down to the beach. Can we go there?"

"The one by the hangar?" Jamison nodded. "Yeah, there's this little alcove down there. I'm sure it's fine. That what you wanna do?"

"Yeh. I haven't been to a warm beach since I left home! Common, cunt!" He took off down the hall and that awkward gate returned as he tried to fight off the aching and stiffness. Lucio was a little less enthusiastic as he followed, not because he wasn't eager to go to the beach- he very much liked the idea- but more so because he found himself stuck on something. He only voiced this when he saw Jamison waiting at the end of the hall expectantly, body having a bit of a bounce to it.

" **Excuse me**?"

* * *

The water had always been a marvel from a distance, as with a lot of coastal areas. Jamison tried not to judge at a distance as he'd been to plenty of places where the water turned brown as soon as anyone got close. The water there, however, was just as stunning at arms length as it was from the clifftop installation. It was times like that where he which he was able to swim. He knew how, of course, but couldn't usually due to the fragility of his prosthetics when submerged in water, let alone salt water. He'd attempted waterproofing plenty of times in the past, but each time he found he'd missed a spot somewhere and was forced to replace an array of inner mechanisms. So, no, he couldn't swim. He could wade, however- just a little and it wasn't an easy task. The junker flopped on his rear in the sand and began to draw up the leg of his shorts- which he was happily allowed to wear on off days- to expose the section of his thigh where the metal met flesh. Lucio watched with an almost comical wonder as his fingers fiddled with the peg-leg's connector, pushing one orange panel aside to expose the actual lock. Jamison disengaged said lock and the leg went limp before pulling free of the stump.

Jamison saw his companion flinch. A pang of offense rooted itself in his stomach for a moment before digging itself out with reason. Lucio had all of his faculties. It had to have looked painful to a bystander's eye. Mahogany irises trailed the span of smoother, lighter skin and scar tissue, stopping center of the almost crescent slice at the base. The lighter area of the stump itself looked like an explosion against the healthy flesh around it, coming out in a starburst design about the remnants of the suture point. Lucio had taken it in quickly before averting his eyes with a mumbled apology, something Jamison thought unnecessary. "No drama, cobber. I know it looks funky." He moved his left hand over to give the right the same treatment as the first piece, doing so with a little less efficiency, but with enough familiarity to handle the intricacies alone. He built the damned thing, after all. As soon as they were off, the prosthetics were set aside and Junkrat straightened his clothes before scooting himself to the water's edge.

His left foot found the wash of cool, crystal water with a wave of homely euphoria. A little bit of foam frothed as breakers lapped at the shore. It ran up his leg before being sucked back out by the next pull of the sea. With that, he was mostly content. He was very aware of eyes on him but still... content. That was, of course, until eyes became hands and he found himself being hoisted up using a very generous amount of skin-to-skin contact. Lucio had hooked one around Jamison's waist and pressed the palm of his other hand to the taller's chest, using his sturdy little body to get the junker onto one foot while leaning on him. "Oi! What'cha doin'?" Lucio smiled up at him from under the remains of his right arm.

"You wanna actually get in the water, don't you?"

"Yeaaahhh, but I can do it meself."

"I'm sure you can, but I'm gonna help you." Jamison didn't argue beyond that. If there was anything he'd managed to grasp from his short stay it was that Lucio wasn't willing to lose what few arguments he got into. Sooner or later, he'd get his way. Maybe that meant he was right. The smaller man afforded Jamison kind of gentleness suited for a glass sculpture, moving slowly into the water little-by-little. He'd walk a little bit ahead and then wait for the larger to hop up next to him. The pace was almost agonizing with soft palms holding delicately to his figure and allowing their digits to smooth over some of his skin. He was both grateful and disappointed when they made it out far enough and Lucio allowed him to settle into the water. Sitting in his rear, the water reached just over his belly-button and he decided that it was nice- perfect, even. The Brazilian sat himself down next to the larger with a satiated sigh. "Kinda reminds me of home..." he breathed, mostly to himself. Junkrat nodded.

"Yeh. Me, too."

"You ever been to Brazil?"

"Once on a layover. Did fuck all durin'. Didn't leave the airport. How 'bout you? Ya ever been over to my neck?"

"Twice. Had a concert in Sydney and a party in Perth. The first time, I came in December after spending two weeks in Europe. It was a very nice change. Not a fan of the cold." He shuddered. Jamison mimicked the gesture with an almost disgusted sound.

"Geh. Me neither. Grew up in the bush out there near Junkertown an' there wasn't much 'side from desert even before the rebels fucked it over. Was always hot." Lucio hummed a second and licked his lips. He seemed prepared to say something on the matter, but a flick of his eyes told Jamison that he'd reconsidered. Instead of whatever it was he was going to say originally, the Brazilian turned to look at Jamison's right arm. He brought up a confident hand to thumb over the lines of the larger's tattoo- a flaming skull with two lit sticks of dynamite crossed underneath. It was warm, gentle contact with but the pad of his thumb, something simple and small that somehow managed to spin his brain like a top. "U-uh. Yeh, a friend of mine growin' up started doin' tats in Junkertown. Didn't wanna be a scaver out in the bush so he took up somethin' the boss wouldn't pull him away from. Junkers love their ink. Was gonna get the whole sleeve at some point but I got kicked out. Said I was too much trouble. Can you believe it?" He tried a very knowing grin, one that pulled a scoff and a weaker smile from Lucio in return which didn't at all help.

"No. You're a perfect little angel."

"Yeh, well... The Boss wasn't very charmed. Honestly, I agree with her. Not sure why I wasn't kicked out sooner, if I'm honest... " He trailed off as soon as he realized he was prattling. Lucio couldn't have understood more than half of what he was saying. "Eh. Look where it brought me, though. Hold up here with a bunch'a goody-two-shoes who look at me like walkin' dunny."

"Well... Maybe if you let people give you a chance..."

"Don't fool with me, mate. You an' I both know they wouldn't give me the time of day in a million years. None of them have ever even said hello. I dun know most 'a their names and I've been here for nearly two months."

"I did. You scorched my back to hell, made me punch you in the face, kissed me and hid from me for a week and I still talk to you."

"Well **you** ain't like **them**. Obviously."

"Or... **You** ," Lucio leaned over, toughing his shoulder to Jamison's upper arm. His voice became barely above a whisper. "...Are scared to try." The Junker made an offended noise and begrudgingly leaned away, making sure the leer of disbelief was clear to the smaller man.

"Scared to try? Scared to try wot? Makin' a fool 'a meself?"

"They aren't as judgemental as you think they are! If you want them to give you a chance, you have to give **them** a chance. I can't believe that you could be so scared to just talk to people after everything you've said to me."

"Okay, first of all, I am not scared of talking to people. Second, **you** came to **me** first! That's why you're different from them. You made an effort."

"And **you** can't make an effort? You can't go up to one of them and say hi? You can't smile at them and sit near us when we're all in a room together?"

"Tha's different! **I'm** in **their** space! I have no right to just try to get in on the things they do! To approach them!"

"Stop with the 'them.' You're acting like they're some malevolent hive-mind god that's going **smite** you or something! They are people, just like you and me and I promise that they are not going to hurt you!" They stared at one another. Lucio's face was some blend of anger and something between pity and sympathy. On his end, the Brazilian was frustrated. No, he was beyond that. He'd been frustrated for his own reasons before the day even started. Now, he was something that transcended that and had no name. The face looking back at him twitched with a multitude of different feelings, all of which emotions he could never hide. He'd managed to get the larger man at a time where he was out of focus, rendering his attempts at distancing himself weak failures. It hadn't been his intent, but it was at least nice to know some of what was on his mind. He could see so many starts and stops as Jamison's lip twitched, each with what appeared to be a different word. When he finally did speak, it seemed out of left field but Lucio knew he should've expected it or some response similar.

"Why do you care?" That was the million dollar question. He asked himself the same thing over and over only to never find the answer. No amount of thinking or "soul searching" was ever going to give him an answer beyond "I don't know" or "I just do." Just because someone else was asking it at that point didn't mean that an answer would then be conjured up. No, he didn't know. He didn't have the foggiest idea. Everything he considered left him unsatisfied and would surely give Junkrat the same bitter taste. What was he suppose to say, then? Tell him the truth? Say nothing? What would silence even suggest to him? No, he shouldn't have cared- no sane person would- but he did. He wasn't a good liar, either. That left only one choice.

"I don't know... I've been asking myself that for weeks and I can't figure it out. All I know is that I care how you feel and... I like being around you." He took a deep breath, letting it out in a lengthy sigh. Jamison was watching as though his very life depended on him hanging from each and every word that left the Brazilian's mouth. "But it doesn't matter why. All that does is that I **do** care and I don't want you to be isolated... because you aren't nearly as bad as you think you are." The face staring back turned on a dime, curiosity giving way to a deep scowl.

"So we're on this again, are we? Ya still trying to get me to see that I'm a 'good person' inside."

"No!" Lucio barked instantly. His tone was more firm than angry, enough to slab the irritation clean off Junkrat's accusing expression. "You can think you're a good or bad person all you want. What I want you to know is that there are parts of you that I've gotten to see that are enjoyable- parts of you that I know they would like! Parts of you that **I** like! Hell, Junk, they make me want to get to know you **more**. As weird, loud, dickish and stubborn as you can be, I think you're interesting! I do!"

Those words... fucking hurt.

Jamison knew they shouldn't have, but they did. They pounded into his chest with spikes of sickness, fear and panic. There was warmth there, too, but it was overshadowed by this horrible need to run and hide somewhere, made worse by the fact that he physically couldn't! _You warned **yourself** that this would happen. You knew you shouldn't have been nice, but you wanted to play games and try to make him feel better like the drongo you are. You deserve this and every single hour of pain it brings you. It didn't even take you one month before you went and got attached to one of them. There are no words in the english language strong enough to express how absolutely fucking stupid- _He felt a weight shift onto the stump of his right arm. He glared down at the smaller man who had leaned over and pressed his cheek to the bicep with another exhausted sigh as though he was pouting. "You don't have to try if you don't want to. It's your choice. Just... don't think that you aren't worth getting to know." It was... a hug.

 _Oh... God damn it. Why are you like this? Why did it have to be you? Why did you have to be the sweet one? Why couldn't you have just been an asshole?_ He felt his lip twitch in the beginnings of a quiver that he didn't dare let continue and he **prayed** that the other didn't catch it... but he did. He had to have. Of **course** he did. It had to have been why his right arm came around and hooked about Jamison's collar. The hand moved away slowly, though. The embrace, weak as it was, dwindled into nothing before the arm re-joined at Junkrat's hip and helped him get to his feet. "It's about time for you to eat, right? We need to get you back up there." All the Junker could manage in reply was a nod, an expressionless gesture. They hobbled back to the sand and Lucio didn't protest to the Junker re-attaching his prosthetics alone. The larger expected him to attempt to help again, but was very glad he didn't. He wasn't sure how much more physical contact he could take that day. Finally, in thick silence, they walked back up the trail to the main base. _You need to cut him off. It's your last chance before this gets out of hand. Put your stupid fantasies aside and drop it._

Before they made it back around to the hangar, Lucio took hold of the other's wrist, stopping him just off of the slope. Junkrat turned and cocked a brow, but that was all the expression he managed. _Pull away. Don't let him touch you._ He allowed his left arm to sit in the grip between them as the Brazilian found his words. "Thank you... for the past couple of days... Honestly, if you hadn't done what you did, I'd... pretty much be alone in all this." He laughed in humorless breaths with a smile that was almost painful. As much as he knew he shouldn't, Jamison returned it. _Stop. It._ Lucio used his grip on the taller to yank him off-balance so that he could put his arm around his collar again. It was a stronger embrace this time and he let himself lean into it. _For once in your life just **listen**! You know this isn't going to end well! _

It wasn't an embrace... at least, not a _hug_. The strong arm pulled him down to the other's height where Lucio could easily return the gesture previously given to him. It wasn't meant in the same way, not anywhere near it. He knew that. It was a means of making him feel better, something sweet and friendly in stark contrast to Junkrat's own silent admittance of lust, yet... His body didn't know the difference. His face burned like midday in Brisbane from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. The arm slipped away and so to did the kiss as Lucio swung around him with a genuine smile and made his way back inside. Jamison knew he'd have to follow eventually, but he couldn't... not yet. He needed the time as a buffer and perhaps as an assurance that he wouldn't look as ridiculous as he felt at that very moment when he passed anyone on his way to the lunch hall. All of him was buzzing- warm, excited and scared all at the same time. He had let it happen. Why did he let it happen?

 _You are so. Royally. Fucked._


	9. Good Guys

_An armored hand slammed hard into the wall, shaking the room enough to make a vase rattle and tumble to the floor. He didn't dare go to catch it. "You might as well have just handed it to them!" That horrible, raspy voice sounded utterly agonizing at such a volume, accented by a sharp turn that whipped his coattails with an audible, leathery flap. His heavy boots were the baseline percussion that brought the entire, terrifying symphony together. "We were generous with you. We gave you a little more time and you spat in our faces." His tone lowered to a growl as clawed gloves pressed firmly upon the surface of the already disheveled desk. "How was your inept plan suppose to work, anyway? Did you think your cheap militia would be enough to stop agents with near endless resources? Did you think that you could kill them easily and then continue to haggle with us until the next team was sent in?" The questions weren't meant to be answered. He knew that. "No matter what you tried to do, you've showed us that you are no longer capable. Consider your work with Talon concluded." He stepped side, standing to his full height before holding up his left hand and a single finger._

 _Before he could comprehend a single part of the encounter, the window just above him shattered. His head hit the desk in a spray of viscera and wooden shards as a bullet zipped from somewhere above the warehouse and burrowed through his head to reach the concrete floor. Gabriel was out of the room before the blood even started to drip over the edge of the palm wood. The eyes that glared him down as he crossed the backlot were all very knowing, very shockingly aware. Some even laughed and joked, saying something in passing about 'new management.' They weren't worth his time. Heeled-steps fell in line next to him and hand flipped back the long ponytail delicately. "So... what now?" she asked, more annoyed than she should've been angry. Gabriel snorted.  
_

 _"Make a plan of attack. Overwatch is our only option, now." Her head shot around to look at him._

 _"I thought you said there was another?"_

 _"Overwatch has the man who knows where it is. We'll get one from them, one way or another."_

 _Amelie sighed, setting her jaw._ _"Brilliant."_

 _"We did find someone who might be willing to help, however."_

* * *

"Common, Fawkes! That Metal arm doesn't help you with this stuff?"

"Not...Hn...Enough!" His entire body ached more than it had in a long time. His upper arms burned like someone had taken his muscles out, stretched them and then forced them all back into his body. His back was slowly joining the mix and the rivers of sweat only added to the discomfort. Still, he continued doing his push-ups with a begrudging diligence which he afforded very little else. Said worth ethic wasn't long for this world, however, was there was only so much he could take before his already fragile patience shattered. That point was approaching fast.

"Twenty more and I might be more inclined towards mercy." Jesse scolded, standing over the Australian in the boxing ring. The steely glare he caught in return was borderline savage, bared teeth and all. "Don't start getting pissy, Fawkes. This is your own fault." Jamison had to disagree. No, this was McCree being petty- petty over a very simple mistake.

"I thought...Mn...You said mistakes were...Heh...Part of learning." He tried to get the words out as clearly as possible through the labored breathing. It didn't help that his lungs weren't exactly healthy. The southerner crouched down just off of Junkrat's shoulder, the pads of his fingers joined together as his arms rested on his knees.

"I warned you that if you dropped your right knee again, you'd do push ups," He laughed.

"S'not. My. Fault," The Australian grunted, finally reaching the twentieth lift and going to straighten himself until Jesse Put a hand on his back to keep him down.

"Ten more."

"Fer what?" He practically yelped. Jesse stood and walked back to the center of the ring. His feet were bare and made a light tapping sound as he did so.

"Because I told ya to. Ten more. I know ya can handle it." Rather than do what he was told, Jamison pushed off of the canvas and set himself on his butt, arms rested over his knees with a tight scowl. His amber eyes glared pointedly at the man across the ring who stared back with a mostly relaxed expression save for a clear warning in his eyes. "You must be itchin' to add pilates to this routine. Get back down and do ten more, Fawkes." The other shook his head.

"No. It's not me fault that it drops. I can't control it sometimes! I tried me best! Like I can control a fake limb perfectly 'hundred percent 'a the time!"

"I can just fine." Jesse twisted his left wrist, rolling a set of movements from his fingers all the way to his shoulder. The piece kept the fluidity of an actual, flesh-and-blood arm. Jamison scoffed at it, glaring at the pristine steel with an almost venomous sneer.

"Do these look like thousands 'a dollars to you?" He wiggled his own prosthetics, noting the clicks and creaks absent from McCree's demonstration. The older man considered the hodge-podge mechanics with a raised brow. After a minute, he bit the inside of his lip and sighed.

"They... certainly do not. We can fix that, though."

Jamison curled his right arm against his chest protectively, almost cradling it. "None 'a yer bunch is layin' a **finger** on these." A sigh escaped Jesse's lips, hands settling on his hips as he leaned back on one leg, the other propped by the heel on the canvas. He cocked a head at the other with an expression somewhere between scolding and amusement.

"They won't have to. We can make you new ones. You can keep those put away and use some reliable ones."

"I happen to **like** these." He didn't even try to hide the offense in his voice. This, of course, earned him another one of those looks.

"It doesn't matter if you like 'em. They ain't practical. Angela says they ain't good on your back, either. The leg doesn't have enough support and the arm's too heavy. Now you're tellin' me that the joints don't set right and I'm thinkin' it might fall under our equipment mandate at this point. _Personal equipment must be in reliable working order._ Remember **that** from the booklet I gave you?" Junkrat's simple glare said all it needed to. "Thought so. Look, you made 'em yourself. I get it. You're proud of it 'n all, but it's starting to mess with your duties and I have to step in. The way I see it, you have two options..." He held up two fingers demonstratively. "Either you get the new gear and we can continue without hiccups like this, or you can keep using them and I can keep punishing you every time your equipment fails. That's all you get. What'll it be?"

"That ain't fair!" The other bit, squeezing the wrist of his right arm tightly. Jesse laughed.

"It's completely fair. If I give you the chance to fix a problem and you choose not to fix that problem, it's entirely your fault and you should suffer the repercussions." His voice softened. "Look, all things considered, it's really impressive what you were able to do. It really is. I honestly believe that you're a lot smarter than you let on and I'm really hopin' you'll make the smart decision here. Like I said, we won't take those away from you or touch them. I just think professionally made gear would be good for you. Doctor Ziegler does, too. We're just tryin'a help." Junkrat growled. He hated when Jesse's reasoning made sense. It was far too common and almost always at odds with his own desires. His stance didn't even hold up in his own mind as his original goal was to use his homemade set until he had the means to get a well-made substitute. At this point, he was arguing for argument's sake because he was pissed and trying to be petty to someone who, in the end, wasn't being petty in the first place. Gradually, the Junker uncurled and reluctantly relented, letting the heavy metal of his right hand smack the canvas. He didn't need to say anything. His answer was clear.

"That'a boy. Now give me ten more push-ups." Jamison glared up at him, not even having to ask when McCree answered. "For being sassy."

* * *

Torbjorn's workshop was something to behold and not in a way that most would find pleasant. Jamison, however, never felt more relaxed than he did the moment he entered the room. Piles of metal and gadgets galore scattered over the linoleum floor. Different lubricants and oil created a sharp scent that would assault the sensitivities of most and the constant clicking and scraping of tools all reminded him too much of the nights he spend alone in his home building whatever new device he fancied. However, there was a level of organization to it, something a little more foreign. Unused work stations were kept wiped down and free of bits and bobs and there were clearly defined paths for walking between shelves and projects. The Lindholms didn't often leave the confines of their cozy little workshop and thus were far less familiar to the Junker. He'd seen the dwarf Lindholm around once or twice but had only heard of his daughter's existence in passing. The two people in question were leaned over some black box with multicolored wires splayed all over. The girl was the only one to look up as her hands weren't he ones buried in the device. She was leaned on her elbows on the edge of the table while her father was standing on a step-ladder to peer into the object he was tinkering with.

"Hello, Jesse," she greeted warmly, turning to offer Jamison a smile as well. The expression took him by surprise. Only two people at the entire base had given him one that genuine before. At the mention of the cowboy, Torbjorn finally lifted his nose to offer a glance.

"Howdy, you two. Ain't too busy are ya?"

"Nonsense!" the dwarf scoffed with a wave, pulling a set of wire cutters from the box and setting them aside. "I need **more** to do. At least something for Brigitte to mess with for once." The girl sighed, smile still fully present but in a much more tired sense.

"He won't let me touch this so I've been a little bored. Handing him tools all day can only get so interesting." She tapped the side of the box with a single finger that was swiftly swiped away. She waggled her brows at that. Her point was proven.

"Well, that's good, then. We need some prosthetics."

Torbjorn eyed Jamison. "Finally! I was tired to hearing those things clank down the hall constantly. You look like you've been ready for new ones for years now!" He was obviously referring to the worn nature of the artificial limbs and Jamison had to remind himself that his work was good for someone with little technological knowledge to keep from barking out his offense. "Come here, boy. Let me get a look at 'cha." He went to step forward until Brigitte moved between them.

"Papa, I'm doing this one. You keep working on that."

"Hrmf. Fine then. Get on with it. The boy needs to stop limping sooner rather than later." The girl gave an apologetic smile before leading Jamison by the shoulder to a chair across the room. He say down, needing only a gentle nudge in the right direction. He watched Brigitte collect arm-fulls of different tools and push a cluster of metal parts onto the floor as she shoved a table to Jamison's left. She laid her collected utensils on said table and then took a data pad from her satchel to finally look at Jamison's limbs. The scanner cast a little fan of blue light over the devices as she took his wrist in hand and manually turned the limb over.

"Where did you **get** these?" she asked, obviously in scrutiny.

"I made them."

"Oh..." She lifted her head from the scanner for a moment only to quickly pull herself back into her work. "Well, it's... decent. Made from... scrap metal?" She was trying not to upset him and it was a very valiant effort. He'd give her that.

"Yeah. It's kinda all we had in the wastes. Broken cars, omnic parts, all that stuff."

"Huh. I'm actually kinda surprised that you managed to find the parts you needed to make working prosthetics. This is actually pretty cool!" She meant that. She really did and he let himself smile with the warmness in his stomach. "Still, it's not ideal. I mean nothing by it, but there are too many problems with these for me to reasonably work with them and not basically build entirely new ones from the ground up. Fried wiring, a bad nerve detector, rusty joins in the elbow and wrist. Goodness, some of this could actually be dangerous."

"Tha's fine. Was gonna ask fer new ones anyway. I'm gonna keep these as they are. Sentimental, ya know?"

"Great! I can make you some nice, new libs in no time. I can give you a leg with a foot, too."

"That part is a requirement," Jesse said, walking up behind Brigitte with a chuckle. "Doctor Ziegler says the peg-leg is bad for his back. She's been hounding me to get him down here since day one." Brigitte hummed and fiddled with the knee of said leg.

"I can imagine. How long have you been using this thing?" She looked back to Jamison.

He sighed. "Nearly ten years, I think. Somethin' like that." She cringed.

"Eesh. Yep, I think it's time for an upgrade. I just need to take a few measurements from your real arm and leg. I'm gonna try and make the new stuff as similar as possible." The younger Lindholm grabbed Junkrat's left hand and set the data pad over his palm which she made face upward. She prompted him to splay it flat wordlessly and the scanner worked its magic. First, a box appeared over his palm before lines spread out to the tips of each finger. Flashing circles spin over the tips before, one at a time, boxes appeared over the finger joins and some numbers collected to the side. She turned the hand over and the process repeated, however an outline began to form over the hand. She turned the hand again, this time on it's side with the thumb facing upwards. The final time, the thumb faced downward. Once finished with that, she fiddled with the pad before scanning over Jamison's wrist to his elbow, repeating the turning process as best she could. The same sort of scanning was done with his leg. "Now, I need you to remove them for me," she said distantly, motioning to the prosthetics as she messed with the pad some more. Junkrat obeyed a little hesitantly, but obeyed nonetheless. The arm was set aside on the tool table where it thumped vociferously against the aluminum. The leg he simply allowed to flop onto the floor next to the chair, finally leaving him minus two limbs and with his scars entirely exposed.

He always felt so naked without them covered in some way, even on the rare nights where he'd put them aside while he slept. He opted for sports tape, bandages or some sort of cloth to cover the stubs when he thought enough about it, so they usually weren't at all visible. They weren't now, however. They were in clear view and he entirely expected some sort of reaction; however, he got none. McCree and Brigitte looked over the injuries like they were something they'd seen hundreds of times before. Junkrat slapped himself mentally when he realized they probably were. Jesse himself was missing an arm and Brigitte knew how to make replacement limbs. Most of Overwatch had probably seen scars of his variety many times, not just the current company. "How did you lose them?" asked the girl. That made Jamison twist. Was he expected to be honest? Was this like visiting a doctor where lying about how something happened could lead to problems later?

"Well, uh... I lost the leg when I was making a pressure bomb... Dropped it an' it blew me leg off..."

She hummed again. "And the arm?" He paused. He glanced over to Jesse, looking intently for some sort of sign but all he got was a curious, prompting stare. He must've been silent for too long, though, because Brigitte patted his left knee and chuckled. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Was curious is all." He released a breath that he hadn't know he was holding and almost laughed himself. He was being silly, wasn't he? It couldn't be that hard to talk about... It **shouldn't** be. Brigitte finally stood, smiling at the Junker once more with meaning. "Alright, I'll get to work on this right away! Do you need help...?"

Jamison shook his head and began to put his arm back into place. "Nah, mate. Been doin' it on me own fer years." As he was aligning the connector, a hand reached out and slipped the heavy piece from his grip.

"No! No, I'm sorry. Uh, I don't think I can let you put these back on. Like I said, some of the issues with them could be dangerous."

"Wha- I've been usin' these forever and I haven't had any problems."

"Well, that doesn't mean you never will." She sounded apologetic but it did little to curb his irritation. "The new ones shouldn't take more than a few days, two at the minimum."

"An' wot until then? Rely on other people to help me do everythin'? I haven't had to do that since I was tiny and I ain't about to start up on it now!" Jesse stepped over, a hand put up placatingly.

"Jamison, calm down. She'll work fast and you'll be up on two feet in no time. 'Sides, it gives you an excuse to have a couple days off. Who would say no to that?"

"The man who'll have to sit around minus two limbs in that time! Forgive me, cap, but I ain't too keen on a sedentary lifestyle, even fer only two days."

"I'm sure we have a wheelchair around here some-"

"No, I am not rollin' 'round in a wheel chair! Jus' let me use my old ones for a couple of days! It's been nearly a decade an' they've never hurt me! I'll start takin' 'em off at night an' whenever I can handle not usin' 'em if it'll make ya feel better, but jus' let me use 'em!" McCree sighed and gave Brigitte a sideways glance.

"Are they **really** that dangerous for him to wear?" She parroted the sigh and lifted the data pad between the three of them, pulling up the scan of Junkrat's metal arm first.

"So, Jamison used a connector from an older model prosthetic, one nicknamed the 'prodder' variety. They're named that way because there is a very thin, fine set of metal prods that sink into the skin when they connect to the amputated limb. These prods read signals from the brain and transfer those into the corresponding movements. The reason you don't start bleeding when you break the connection is because of an automatic cauterization effect that triggers when the lock is disengaged. While good in theory, this type of connector was discontinued because it was found to cause nerve damage when not very finely maintained. Overuse without replacement parts for long periods can lead to the cauterization effect to overheat and singe the muscle tissues and nerves. The same connector was used for his leg, as well." She turned and grabbed Jamison's arm stump before he could flinch away. "I can clearly see some burning in the scar tissue. It stands out because it's newer compared to the rest of the scarring. This means the connectors are going bad and the cauterization effect can start to activate without the lock being open. It isn't really a matter of **if** they will cause harm with continued use. It is a matter of **when**. So, to answer your question, yes. It **is** really that dangerous for him to wear them again."

"Damn..." Jesse adjusted his hat, looking over at Jamison's entirely defeated expression. "That is... a lot worse than I thought it would be... Knowin' all this, you can't object to this now, parter. It's room arrest or a wheelchair. What'll it be?"

* * *

With what little maneuverability he had left, Junkrat adjusted the pullover on his body so the right sleeve entirely engulfed the remains of his arm. The soft touch of fabric over the end flesh was almost completely foreign. From where he'd managed to get on the bed, he could see his reflection in the closet mirror and glared with an almost venomous hatred at the broken rag-doll of a man that stared back at him. Traces of sunlight still sent shafts through the curtains and those shafts cast a glow upon his amber eyes, making them appear like a demon's in the dark, like the monster in his closet he'd feared as a child. It had all been horrid since the moment he got there... One domino followed the one before it in a string of shitty instances that ultimately did little more than piss him off. The training, the fighting, the uniforms and now this... Sleeping in a clean, comfortable bed be damned, Gibraltar wasn't a far cry from prison. At least he knew how to get out of a prison. He couldn't say the same for a cliffside base with some of the best security in the world. _That's private funding for ya..._ he thought to himself spitefully. He wasn't opposed to talking out loud when alone, but he was never alone. Oh no, he had a happy little robot roommate who's tiny, blue eye followed his every movement. from the doorway. Even when he stepped into his private bathroom, the damn thing knew where he was and what he was doing with certainty.

Still... he might have owed the A.I. had it been an actual person and he would've thanked it for helping him avoid Lucio for a week had he seen the need. He was still trying to figure out why it helped him with that childish endeavor to begin with. Having nothing else to occupy his time, Jamison scooted himself to the center of the bed and flopped down, head squishing between two cool pillows. After his session with Jesse for the entire morning and slowly creeping into the afternoon, sleep was far from difficult.

* * *

 _He was there again... Standing next to him, over him... A monolith of a man of he'd ever seen one. He knew himself to be a tall person, but for the man to his left to be as much over him as he was, he couldn't have been entirely human. He might not have been... There was still no face, no clear features, just a general shape and a head of blond hair that seemed to morph between similar styles. In the blur and general unfocused nature of the world, the clothes shifted ever so slightly... A blue shirt... then a black one... then a red one... blue jeans to dress slacks... Why was it so ambiguous? In a nearly unsettling fashion, the head turned to face him, featureless void considering him in ways unknown. When he spoke, the words were clear as day, but the voice was a mixture... many all at once... all similar. Parts crossed between the different tones like raspiness and an accent much like his own... "What are you doing out here? What are you doing?" The jaw didn't even move to mimic the speech, but it was clearly coming from the figure before him. Jamison became all too aware of the dirt underfoot and the moonlight that had evaded his senses until then._ _The question hung in the air, repeating over and over but it became but a gust of wind he was able to tune out._

 _He just wanted to focus on the figure... will to memory something on that empty slab of skin. A nose, a pair of eyes, a mouth... even alone, just one of those things would be a step farther than he'd ever gotten. Just placing the voice down might placate him for a day, but he knew it wouldn't be enough... it would never be enough. As that figure stared down at him, asking that same question in robotic rhythm, only a single thought made itself clear._

 _"Why did you **have** to be out here?"_

* * *

The sun was gone when he awoke hours later and this stir was not of his body's own accord but rather because someone new had invaded his space. In his many years in the wastes, he'd become very easy to rouse. It was a protective measure more than anything else and a habit he wasn't willing to break. Amber eyes darted up and met with a pair if whiskey brown. McCree was minus his poncho, hat and chest-plate and his hand was clamped delicately on the edge of a food tray which was settled on the nightstand. "Mm. Hey. Athena said I shouldn't wake you up, but I guess you're a light sleeper." Jamison got himself upright and ran the back his hand over the bridge of his nose.

"Yeh... Kinda haf'ta be. How long was I out?"

"Not too long. Four hours." Jamison sighed and pulled his comforter up to his stomach, bunching the hem between his fingers possessively. His right arm twitched with a frustrated need for movement as a phantom sensation pretended to extend his reach. Jesse sighed when the other averted his gaze. "There's nothin' shameful about it, you know..." There was no response... only a thick, angry pit of silence. Just out of the din, Jesse could discern the cut of a scowl. "Listen, I know a lot of what's happened seems... Unfair to you... Makin' you eat, givin' you medication, makin' you train and now this... But we really are tryin' to help you... Tryin' to make you healthy and able-bodied. Hell, all this seemed like a lot when it happened to me, too." The junker's head shot around, brows raising in a silent question that didn't need voice to be comprehended. Jesse laughed as he settled himself on the foot of the bed. "Yeah, I was a criminal when I started out, too. I was part of a gang. We stole, gambled, cut up and wreaked havoc like nobody's business. Back then, one of the big dogs in Overwatch was a man named Gabriel. Guess Gabe saw somethin' good in me... potential. When he got ahold of me, he gave me a choice: Go to prison or join Overwatch. I picked the obvious choice, thinkin' it meant more freedom but what I really got was months and months of buildin' trust and trainin'... tried to devise a plan to earn a little bit of slack on my leash and then run when I got the chance, but... things changed... made a lot of realizations... Now, I'm not sayin' that that's what I expect you to do. We're all different and this life ain't for everyone... but I see potential in you. Heh... Lucio's been talkin' to me... He thinks there's good in you, too. Says the idea of it makes you mad but I'm bein' honest. We both are." Jamison merely watched, listening intently and without expression. "By the end of this little venture, you can choose what you wanna do. Go back to be a public menace or whatever, but..." He stood, straightening his shirt. "I think there's a lot more to all of us... and not everyone gets the chance to make a difference."

At that, the Junker scoffed. "You think someone like me joinin' this little outfit would make a difference?"

Jesse responded with a wink. "In more ways than you could ever imagine. Tell me, when you were a little kid, were you taught to be a good person? Were people around to teach you right from wrong and try to give you a moral set?"

"Uh... Yeah... Lived with me ma. Before the whole junker lifestyle was adopted out there, she would always lecture me about not becomin' like them... Said they hurt people... Then the government showed up with the relief effort... They let us stay in camps and gave us food and medicine for a while before coming in and tellin' us that if we didn't turn over the surviving rebels responsible for the explosion they'd leave us to die... I was little, but I still knew it wasn't right... Everyone did... So no one gave in. We stood together as a community an' refused to give up the rebels an' they did exactly what they said they'd do. They pulled out an' left an' expected us to all die of radiation poisoning or somethin'. We were so out in the bush that they didn't think we could make it back to anyplace with supplies in time to save ourselves..." His brow furrowed. "It was the Junkers that saved us back then. They'd been livin' like that fer months and offered everyone new lives free from the people who hurt us. They built homes, made currency, went out of their ways to fix vehicles and trade scrap for food an' water... A couple years down the line, they started convertin' the Omnium into a city. We had our own laws and shot at anyone we didn't want near us."

McCree hummed. "The government tried to patch things up with you fellas down the line, didn't they?"

Jamison's scowl deepened. "Cobber, for three years all we had were stillbirths and miscarriages... Some money and well-wishes ain't gonna fix that. Nothing they could ever do would fix the shit they did. I was five-fucking-years-old and they left me and kids I grew up with to die. I was one of two kids my age out there that managed to survive by some stroke of luck or whatever."

"Mm." With a blank expression continued, Jesse stood up and made his way across the floor to the doorway, left open as he'd intended to leave much sooner; however, he stopped in the middle of the floor, thumbs hooked in his pockets. "Who are the good guys in all that, Fawkes?" Junkrat stared at him in disbelief. "I'm not saying the government were justified in abandoning you all because they **weren't** but can you tell me with certainty that one side is the moral good?"

"Not the people letting babies die, that's fer sure." McCree nodded.

"Okay, but I don't think it's the people who blew up a factory and irradiated an entire section of the country, either."

"Are you saying we deserved it?"

"No. Not at all. I'm sayin' that, maybe, there are no good guys in that story. On one side, you got a bunch of people who blew up a factory, made the land sick and caused horrible damage as a result. On the other, you got a government who were willin' to leave innocent people to die for not wantin' to turn over their friends and family who were responsible. A lot of people could argue that the rebels were left to live with the effects of their actions. Some people might've even called it justice. 'Course, you and the people who had to live through it see it entirely differently."

The boiling in Jamison's eyes was clear as day, even in the darkness of the night-clasped bedroom. "Yeh? An' where do you stand in all that, huh?" It was rage... bitter, hissing rage with raised shoulders and a clenched fist around the lump of blanket. Jesse shrugged, taking a casual step back, heel just touching the hallway.

"I think we all need to walk a mile in each other's shoes." With that, he left the room and allowed Athena to close and lock the door behind him. It engulfed Jamison in the din once more... masking his expression as it contorted into a mix of anger and vivid thought.

* * *

 _"Whatever he was offering you, we'll give you with interest. You don't even have to do anything difficult," the strange-skinned woman sat across from him, legs crossing delicately and clearly trying to mask her disgust with both her company with the surroundings. Her right hand's fingers rapped against the slickly-clothed knee. Her own feelings were entirely clear and her effort to mask them was downright pitiful. However, what she promised was almost too alluring to ignore. He tilted his head, knowing expression might not be a good indicator for her. "All you need to do is convince him to cooperate and tell us where it is. I'm sure you understand the task of infiltrating Overwatch's main base of operations being incredibly arduous, so at least one aspect of the mission being simple would be of great service- Enough to reward you handsomely."_

 _One great, calloused finger tapped the table between them idly, shaking the surface. All that came in response was a hum, raspy and almost wheezing through the filters of a gas mask._


	10. A Fish in the Wrong Pond

How the steps creaked as bare feet made their way down was a constant he'd grown tired of experiencing. It was his fault, though. He told himself day after day that the stairs would be his next project only to have them put on hold. At that point, he might as well have resigned himself to accept it at that point. He found the concrete bottom floor with a wince and turned to the kitchenette. Amber eyes locked with his own blue. "Mornin'," He greeted, only getting a nod in response as the boy's mouth was occupied by a bite of sandwich. What was on it, God only knew. That boy had a taste like no other. At least he was **eating**. Messy blond hair flopped to the side as he turned to watch the older man cross the floor to the fridge and take out an unlabeled can. "Anyone drop by yet?" he asked, trying to pry the pull-tab from the lid. The boy swallowed.

"Yeh. Rose came an' got her gun an' some guy said he wanted ya to look at his motorcycle. Somethin' wrong with the clutch er whatever." The older man hummed, picking a ball of processed meat from the can and molding it around in his mouth slackly. He considered his surroundings first- very familiar. The actual living area of his property was as slapped together as everything else, but was sturdy and he couldn't complain too much. The furniture and decor were all salvaged with a cloth couch fit to collapse on the far corner by the stairs, a hole-filled runner set in the center of the room and a set of bar-stools he'd put against the island of his kitchenette. In spite of the stools existing, the younger had sat himself on the island as he finished off his breakfast. Both of them were bare-foot in spite of the weird chill that morning and seeing the boy's dusty feet curled under him on the slab was a little irritating, to say the least. The older man lightly popped the back of his head.

"Get down, ya drongo. What I tell ya about sittin' on me counters." The skinny blond didn't protest and simply hopped from the counter to one of the stools, face the picture of false innocence. It was then that the elder noticed something out of the norm. He stepped around the island and set his breakfast aside to grasp the metal right wrist of his companion. He brought the device before him and considered it with intrigue and a spark of scrutiny. It was a very articulate hand freshly dried in a vibrant shade of orange. "Where did you get this?" He'd be a liar if he said his tone wasn't a little accusatory. The blond pulled it away.

"Found it. Was tired of usin' a hook like a bloody pirate. Dug it up outside the gate. Must'a belonged to a tin-can er somethin'."

"And you used my paint."

The teen huffed, and dropped both of his hands into his lap. "Ya got, like... Fifty cans 'a orange paint."

"Still should've asked." He was not nearly awake enough to scold the boy. Instead, he tapped the side of his head with the back of his left hand and walked himself to the door at the back of the kitchenette. Through it, he found himself in a garage with piles of parts and tools strewn about in his own organized chaos. His young companion wasn't far behind as he heard the boy's boots hop down the steps after him. "Need to go scrappin' today. You up for some sunburns?" The blond shrugged and shoved his left hand into the pocket of his shorts. "Get yer bag and lock the front door."

Jamison wasn't nearly as enthusiastic about leaving town as he used to be, but the older man still caught a glimpse of of a skip in his step as he strolled through the winding, littered streets. The foot traffic was a bit hectic, but Jamie was thin and managed to weave his way through the multitude of larger bodies, unlike his elder companion. Of course, this meant the boy made it to the gate a good ways ahead of him. The guards at the door always gave the teen shit when he showed up alone and it was a wonder how Jamison managed to get out of the town as often as he did. It didn't seem like anyone wanted to let him leave, let alone allow him back in when he **did** manage to get out. There had to have been some little hole somewhere he was using to exit and enter of his own volition. Needless to say, when the older man joined him at the door, one of the bulkier junkers was spitting some profanity at him and picking at the teen's scrawniness, a dig that stopped mid-sentence when he got there.

"Oh. Rubber. He with you?"

The older man, Rubber, nodded. "Yeh. He's with me. Lay off it. We're lookin' to gather some scrap."

"Fine 'n. Go on out." The guard pushed open the staff door and allowed the two to leave. He gave Jamie a bump with his foot in the rear before slamming it shut again. Of course, the child would've retorted had Rubber not clamped down on his left wrist.

"Dun start, boy. Dun pick fights ya can't win. I ain't pullin' yer bruised ass from under another bloke."

"Dun see them treatin' other people like that." The murmur was laced with a generous heap of resentment. The older man tightened his lips.

"Not a lot 'a people here are as young as you, either. They pick 'cause yer young. An easy target. If ya just keep yer head down, ya wouldn't have as many problems." They waded through the shells of stripped cars and around the section of town that bordered the outer wall. It was homes and businesses for people who refused to confine themselves to the tuna can that was Junkertown, something Rubber wouldn't blame them for in a million years. Of course, inside the wall was safer, but the community on the outside had each other's backs most of the time and the Junkertown guards seemed alright with taking pot-shots at the infrequent invader from the wall. Beyond the town was a simple expanse of nothing save for red dirt and distant clusters of buildings along long-abandoned stretches of highway. One of said clusters was the one the older junker had in mind. It wouldn't be too far of a walk.

Over the years, the Junkers and traders had worn down foot-trails between most of the rotting communities in the bush, one of which they followed semi-leisurely as though they hadn't a fear in the world. It was obviously not the case, but appearing confident was a great help, Rubber had found. Still, he kept one hand hooked in his belt, just shy of the butt of his pistol. Jamison hadn't a **gun** of his own, but the boy's unassuming and frail presentation could've possibly been his greatest ally. The two of them had crossed about half of their trek in half of an hour going at walking-speed, finally making it to the nearly stripped town by noon. Most of the former settlements near Junkertown had been stripped almost clean save for the buildings and anything too heavy to scrap or move. Even some wooden panels from the buildings had been lifted and carried off to God knows where. Jamison fisted the strap of his satchel. Why'd we come here? Ya not gonna find nothin'."

"If ya wanna make junkin' a lucrative business, ya need to have a keener eye than that, boy." Rubber slipped into a brick structure that resembled a gas station and the smaller man followed only to the door. He watched as the older man bent down at a counter and started to fiddle with a screwdriver. "Lotta junkers don't know the value 'a small bits. They'd rather weld their shit together than use screws an' nails. Can't build good shit without nuts an' bolts, though. That's why I get so much business. What do ya think gets left behind most often when Junker's strip a place, then, Jamie?" The teen straightened.

"Em... Screws?"

"Yup. Screws, nails, nuts an' bolts. They're small an' unassumin' but are invaluable." The older man stood and kicked the now loose counter backwards. In his hands was a clutch of screws and larger bolts. He dropped the bits into his backpack before walking out of the building. "Don't fall into their habits, boy. Be smart, build smart and it'll take you a long way." They continued the pattern, Rubber going inside and lifting smaller metal bits and Jamison standing at the door with his hands gripping tightly to the strap of his bag. By the end of their venture, the older man's bag rattled like a package of craft bells. As the began the trip back, the elder of the two noticed the uncharacteristically stern set of the boy's face and a new reticent air forged between them. "What's on yer mind, mate..." It was said in a way that suggested less curiosity and more patient annoyance. It was a knowing tone.

"Junkertown's got plenty of mechanics..."

"Yeah. They do. Why's that got yer face all sour?" He could easily guess what the problem was but still asked.

"I can't be useful as a mechanic."

"Probably not, but you like to build. What's something else you could do?" He was encouraging the train of thought akin to how a parent or tutor might as it was a valuable thought to dwell on. Rubber wasn't known by many as a fatherly type- and certainly wasn't that to his young companion- but he'd be damned if he didn't teach the boy anything while having him as a hire. Sure, Jamison was independent enough- thank God- but he often needed nudging to figure himself out sometimes. The teen's prominent brow furrowed even deeper as the vice on his bag increased.

"Make... weapons?"

Rubber considered it with a tilt of his head. "That's one road, yeh. We could use a few things other than shotguns and rifles. What else could ya do?" At that, Jamison drew a blank, offering but a shrug. "Well, ya made that arm 'a yers. Plenty 'a Junkers don't have good prosthetics. Could make those, if ya fancy." The younger man hummed.

"Yeh... Could do that, too."

"You'll figure somthin' out, mate. Yer smart enough. Find yer place in there and they'll stop pushin' you around so much." The noise Jamie made suggested disbelief, but nothing more was said on the matter. Of course, the same guard gave Jamison a hard time at the gate, even pushing his luck with Rubber in proximity. The mechanic was quick to take the butt of his gun to the man's shoulder, ending the "playful" shoving match swiftly. Jamison might've had some height on a lot of the Junkers, but he wasn't anything of the threatening persuasion- couldn't be to save his life. His thin form, freckle-sprinkled face, messy blond hair and big, round eyes all screamed " _I don't belong here._ " The only way the boy was even allowed inside was because he snuck in and found someone to claim him. Rubber did feel a little sorry for the kid... he had to admit. His circumstances weren't at all formed by any action of his own... He was like a lot of people: Junkertown was his only option.

The older man finally came back to his building along the upper catwalk of the wall and slunk silently to his workshop to dump the new group of bits into their respective bins by his bench. Jamison watched and noted how the pile of nails continued to overflow and tumble from the crate whereas the screws, nuts and bolts all fit fine into their own. The nails outweighed the others and it wasn't hard to figure out why. Almost none of Rubber's work required the damned things, meaning he had a generous surplus. Jamie sat down in the middle of the workshop and set his chin against the knuckles of his left hand. "Rubber, can I use some nails fer somethin'?"

"Use 'em fer what?" The caution was transparently clear.

"Nothin' dangerous. Jus' wanna tinker some."

"With nails?"

"Yeh. Common, I won't break nothin'." The older man hummed, running a hand over his stubbly chin.

"If ya ruin **anything** in this garage, I will have ya doing weldin' repairs for **weeks**. Understand?" Jamison gave an enthusiastic nod and slid his way over to the box of rusted bits. Rubber would've watched but a heavy pounding on the front door drew him back through the kitchenette. He was sure the boy was fine for the time being. Beyond the steel door, a leather-clad face glared down at him with empty-looking sockets. Horrible, painful huffs of stale air released along the seems and through a worn filter between the two of them. At the sight, the smaller of the two made sure the close the door behind him as he stepped into the street. The leer he tossed back at the man was anything if not hostile. "I assumed that was you who dropped by earlier. I'm assumin' the bike thing was bullshit?" The voice beyond the mask was deep and raspy, almost gasping with every few words.

"No. It does need work. If I had other business, I wouldn't use excuses."

"Where is it, then?"

"They won't let me bring it inside." Rubber huffed and reached into the home to grab his bag, closing the door firmly behind him. He jerked his chin towards the gate, silently encouraging the larger man to lead him back through, a signal received and followed. He lead Rubber back through the gate, shoving past the guard to the staff door with little resistance. Few people did much to halt his egress most of the time, anyway. As he'd stated, the bike was sitting outside the gate, in worse shape than Rubber had ever seen it to date and that was saying something, especially if "good" shape for the vehicle never existed to begin with.

"And you say the **clutch** is the problem?" he gaped, tossing his tool bag to the dirt. The larger man's simple response was to silently glare at the other. "For fuck's sake, Mako, you need to start going to the others more. I can't keep up with this damned thing. You know I don't have the best help." Of course, he didn't mean it as a slight against Jamison, but the boy could be a tad clumsy at the worst of times. At the vague mention of Jamison, however, Mako's head gave a nearly imperceptible twitch upwards.

"How is he..." It wasn't said like a question- more like he knew the answer and was merely inquiring out of some sense of duty. The smaller of the two spat out a sigh as he bent to sift through the bag.

"You have no right to ask about any of those kids. You know that." He managed to find a small flashlight which he used to peer around the underside of the tank. The gap in conversation for what must've been five minutes coaxed a real answer from Rubber in spite of his earlier scolding. "He's fine. He'll stay that way if **you** keep away from him."

"Last time I checked, you were there, too..." It was barely above a boot-slide on gravel.

"Last time **I** checked, I warned you. Stay away from those kids, Mako. You've done enough to ruin their lives." He clicked the thumb-sized light off and dropped it into the open bag to his right. The larger didn't protest to the bitter words, knowing full well how true they were. Any man who knew a damned thing out there would try to strangle him if he said otherwise. They'd fail, most likely, but try they would. Rubber surely would, even if his odds were just as shit as everyone else's. "I can't work on this thing. Take it to one of the others. There's too much wrong and I have too many other jobs to do." He hooked his right hand under the strap and shouldered it to head back for the gate.

"You finished your last job this morning. You're about to open back up for work after your one-month." Rubber stopped and turned to glare back at him. "I never make excuses with you... Why can't you be up-front with me?" The grip on the satchel tightened.

"What is **this** , then? You were content with ignoring me most days until the kid got here. I'm tempted to tell him why he was practically forced to come here."

"I didn't get Mona sick."

"You kinda did. I'd say all of the blood is on your hands since everyone else is dead." The abyssal sockets stared back with no indication of anything. "Go to someone else. Stay away from the kids." That time, Mako didn't stop him. His wheezing breaths washed away with a dusty draft when Rubber slid his way back inside. Guilt proper dared to claw its way through his stomach, but such a horrid sensation directed towards that beast wasn't hard to quell. At that moment, the clamor of the oil-slicked streets was far more tolerable than any breathy second in the wastes with the likes of him. Perhaps he himself was biased, far more so than most, but damn him if he wasn't another kind of petty. It had become a mere fact of his life- that he would be bitter and petty about the entire situation for the rest of his days and he was entirely alright with that. Some people deserved the grudges they built.

Rubber hesitated outside of a bar on the street corner and took in the wafting scent of seared meat. Maybe the boy would appreciate something other than a sandwich. He'd been beyond tolerable for the previous week, after all, and Rubber himself found his stomach in the mood for a warm meal. That settled it. The older Junker pressed himself against the counter, hand reaching back to grip his billfold nestled in a pocket he'd haphazardly super-glued a zipper to. He paid, asked for what he wanted and then allowed himself to glance about the townscape's usually mish-mash of people and fluids beyond any want for identification. Nothing new seemed to have been added to the actual structure of the town in a while, though the higher-ups had preached about a structural rework on the outer square months ago. When walls rusted and threatened to fall left and right, concerns grew and citizens finally started to fret over where the fruits of their labor were being allocated. The majority of the time, however, most Junkers were just happy to have some place to come back to, entirely unconcerned with what happened to the taxes they paid to the cozier lot who could afford the more sound and secure accommodations of the inner square. How revolt hand't boiled up over the stark class divide in a dirt-town was beyond Rubber.

The older junker finally got a greasy bag from the vendor which he snagged with no work of thanks and a silent swivel back towards his shop on the upper catwalk, which was getting more and more hazardous to reach with each passing month. Even then, his left knee locked up on him in a horrid, burning ache on the final slight before the landing. As he stopped to massage the muscle, he caught a hearty vibration rolling through the wall and down the rickety stairs. It was louder than a pop, louder than a gun... More like a hollow slam with accents of small metal clanks. At a delay did he register the dents now pounded into the door of his garage... And after that, a heart-wrenching scream.


	11. A Frog Sticker

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" The way Winston peered over his glasses at him almost made Jesse laugh. The southerner put up both hands placatingly and attempted an expression of absolute confidence, even if his actual amount was closer to none than the former.

"As far as I can tell, he's got one real interest in the entire world, one I think we can make work for us." the primate laid down the data pad he'd been working with, turning from his work station to pad over to his comrade. When they were almost eye-to-eye, the scrutiny was far more obvious.

"It's too early, McCree. You've done a lot with him in a short time span, but I don't see enough progress to warrant that much freedom. I appreciate the strides you're willing to take for the mutual benefit, but I think you need to take a step back." Jesse's thumbs looped into his pockets, head tilted with a sigh and a crooked set to his lips that shifted from side-to-side.

"He's frustrated. We've put him through the wringer recently. If not lettin' him use the workshop, what do you suggest?" At that Winston sighed, settling himself on a cushion at the head of a table where he pulled up a hologram. The structure was a sleek, windowless box, mostly featureless save for a door that almost blended with the side and the numbers four-three painted just above the frame. "He never struck me as the type for that."

"You never know. Just get him to try it a few times. Maybe he'll enjoy it."

He was rolling his jaw. It was a new tell Jamison had noticed when Lucio was thinking rather intensely about something. He could see it from across the break room, even around Hana and Lena's rather flamboyant style of playing _Soul Caliber_. The DJ's eyes were set off towards a random wall next to the television with a lightly furrowed brow, only losing the expression momentarily when someone addressed him. He was aware enough to interact with. He would've done so gladly had the girls not been between the two of them and had he not given the group a generous buffer. The Junker opted to lean over the back of the couch and watch a good few spaces down, keeping at least a cushion between Hana's shoulder and Hanzo's. The elder Shimada was watching with his own jaded interest, seemingly with nothing better to do.

The blond turned back to the screen just in time to see Lena's custom character clutch and get a win on Hana's, though the smaller girl still had an extra round on her and a good gap in skill level. Even so, she seemed pretty excited. The next round started just as the others had, though- with Oxton's character being ruthlessly juggled. Sensing the return to the same song and dance, Junkrat glanced back in Lucio's direction and hoped no one saw him nearly jump out of his skin. The glance was almost pointedly returned. There was no expression in it and that was the worst part as the DJ's expression was often blessed by a smile or something of the soft persuasion. That expression, however, was just... blank. Stoney and empty for the single minute it was tossed in his direction. Was he upset?

Hana finally ended the last round against her foe, putting down her remote with a smile and a cheery "good game," which drew the Brazilian out entirely. His face finally produced an expression; however, the smile was far too strained... painfully so. "Do you wanna play?" Hana asked, offering a remote to her friend. Lucio put up a hand in refusal, trying to loosen his polite grin.

"Nah. I got something I need to go do, actually. Rain check, though." The Korean nodded and looked in the other direction, catching Hanzo's gaze and willfully ignoring the silent request not to address him.

"How about you?" The older man's head-shake was stern and slow, face not faltering from its default grump. Hana insisted, however, which seemed to give Lucio the window he was waiting for to slide around the couch and out the door of the break room. Jamison followed. The DJ wasn't running from him. He couldn't have been if he let Jamison catch up so easily, even with his newly wobbly and uneasy gate. He had to have been the only person he knew that struggled to stand upright on two perfectly capable feet. Still, he leered around Lucio's straight-forward stare and did well enough to keep an almost equal pace (save for a trip or two, of course. He needed to constantly remind himself that having an actual foot meant his right leg needed more room going sideways.)

"Wassa matter?" That at least made the other look at him. What started as a glance became a double-take and the second look became one of consideration. Again, none of this seemed angry or irritated. It was just distant. "Hm?" Junkrat tried prompting, forcing himself to slide a bit on the tile when Lucio stopped suddenly. Hell, he just about fell over. The stare continued for but a minute longer before Jamison realized that they were on the living hall.

"I needed to get away from them," the Brazilian finally breathed, letting a crack of something escape the stone-like resolve. "I mean, I... They're great, I just..."

"I know. I know. Ya dun gotta explain it to me, cobber. You, uh..." He looked at the door he was inadvertently blocking. "...Wanna be alone?"

"No."

"Right. Do ya wanna be away from me?"

Lucio shook his head as he repeated himself with almost the same certainty. "No." Junkrat hummed and put his hands in his pockets.

"Wot, then? You okay?" Blood hell, he was sounding like a mother hen. Lucio slipped around him and opened his door, stepping inside before looking back at the Junker expectantly. It was innocent as all hell for sure, but Junkrat swore mentally at his mind for seeing it for more than what it would ever be. He followed the other and had the door close behind them. At that point, the taller man became acutely aware that he'd never seen another person's living quarters and hadn't taken the time to build expectations for the Brazilian's own space. Still, what he saw didn't surprise him much. Posters of musicians and bands lined the walls from the door to the desk across the room to the right. Green and yellow Christmas lights were wound around one another and tapped to the ceiling along the edge of the room and Lucio opted to flip the switch on them rather than turn on the actual room lights- a obvious choice as the small bulbs gave off a armer, less harsh glow than the sterile LEDs overhead. Two crochet blankets covered the bed in the center of the room, one large enough to fit the entire mattress and of spicy brown and reds while the other was more of a throw across the foot and made from grays and black. They both appeared to be lovingly hand-made. ' _A mother's touch,_ ' he thought.

Lucio sat down on the foot of the bed and pulled the muted throw over his crossed legs. He seemed to practically hug the bunched fluff. Jamison made his way over and pushed aside some of the blanket to sit on the actual bed next to the other. It was then that he noticed the shaking. It had to have been instinct, but Jamison instantly reached his left hand over and splayed it across Lucio's shoulder in a distant, yet comforting, touch- a touch the smaller leaned into as though wanting, even scooting closer to encourage more than that, but Jamison forced a limit on the situation. He didn't want to deal with the voice in the back of his head any sooner than he had. Even in spite of the obvious buffer Junkrat was trying to keep, however, the Brazilian circumvented his guard and snuck his head onto Jamison's shoulder in a tired huff. Not long after the closer proximity had been achieved, though, Lucio retreated back. He was satisfied with but a moment, a blessing to say the least.

"I didn't know if I was going to have a break down or something..." The smaller man finally admitted. "I just started feeling really panicked and didn't want to worry them."

"Mmm. Yeh. You been seein' the doc' an' all?" Lucio nodded. "What she say?"

"She says I'm overworked and am suffering an 'acute stress response.' I don't get it, though... I've been through worse." Jamison touched the pads of his fingers to the new, far too shiny tips of his right hand... Would he ever get used to seeing it on his body?

"Kinda funny sometimes, ya know... Blasted me own leg off as a kid, didn't suffer much up here..." He tapped his right temple. "...But when someone I lived with died, I started gettin' like you a bit. There was one day 'bout a week in where I couldn't leave because I felt like I was on the verge 'a tears for hours. Finally broke 'round sunset and cried 'till early mornin'. It was a weird time fer me."

"I knew that had to have been it..." the other mumbled almost sub-vocally.

"Wazzat?"

"Sorry... Why you were so concerned, I mean... So understanding. I guessed you knew what was going on and took pity on me."

"No, not pity..." He stopped and bit the inside of his cheek. "Okay, yes, pity- but thas not just it... Least I dun think so." The Brazilian laughed and finally let the throw slip from his fingers.

"We're both clueless, then."

"No, not clueless. You may be, but I got a good hold on me motivation."

"Right. Everything on your end has ulterior motives. I forgot." Jamison nudged the other with his elbow, noting the gentle smile that graced his lips.

"Dun apply what I said to everythin', mate. Jus' 'cause I'd like a shag dun mean everythin' I do is me tryin'a get it. Hmf. Still, yer takin' the whole thing weirdly well. Dun that make it weird fer you?"

"Kinda... But I just figure that I interact with people who think of me like that all the time... You're just the only one with the balls to be that forward." Junkrat had to give the guy props: he was one smooth operator. He had taken Jamison's entirety in stride, tossing back what was thrown to him like an absolute pro and only letting it get to him really once. Even with his current emotional stress, Lucio had proven himself far more capable than Jamsion could ever **hope** to be. ' _You really are impressive, Treefrog._ '

Lucio found himself far less at peace with himself. Inside, the smaller man was screaming from wall-to-wall, one anxious sensation giving way to something entirely new and seemingly far worse... maybe. He clasped his hands together under the throw blanket. ' _Why the hell did you want to be around **him** of all people? No, he's not horrible... but you have people you're actually really close to around here..._ Friends.' He paused, noting that Junkrat was also looking off as though lost in thought. ' _He's not a friend... He can't be with all the shit floating around between us... But... You like him, don't you? You confide in him? Do fun stuff with him? You're willing to work around the flaws... Help him learn. Is time the only issue here?_ ' No. He considered Hana a friend after only knowing her two weeks, Lena a friend in around the same time... Genji one in even less and Zenyatta almost instantly. Time wasn't an issue. It had never been an issue with him. He considered himself a good judge of character and trusted himself when he chose to like somebody... Yet he liked Jamison, but was reluctant to call him a friend... It had to have been the eccentricities, the quirks... the assholishness sometimes, right?

' _Hanzo's an asshole all the time and you still see the good in **him**._ ' He did see good in Jamison. Of course he did. He fought tooth and nail to make it even this far with the Aussie and get him to relent from his firm stance that everyone was an asshole inside. He was sure Junkrat still believed it, but at least he wasn't forcing it as a quick way to judge people anymore. Silent pessimism was better than the alternative. Lucio looked at the other with a new sense of purpose, eyes tracing the blank expression that was still lost in thought, heedless of the attention on it. Long, pointed nose... thin face... eyes a little gaunt... Brow very pronounced... Sharp jaw; yet, light freckles and a beauty-mark here and there; bright, enthusiastic eyes, surprisingly smooth skin, high cheek bones, strong chin... A lot of features he hadn't taken the time to really appreciate until then. Now a few weeks clean with a good diet and access to plenty of hygiene products, Jamison almost looked his age. The difference was... suddenly startling. The amber eyes darted to him and he knew it was too late to look away as though he wasn't staring. He merely offered a warm smile.

"Wot?"

He shook his head. "Just thinking." That answer was acceptable without any further prodding, evidently, as Jamison hummed and looked back down at his hands. His new arm was leagues nicer than the old one, if Lucio was honest, though the new leg and instructions to stop slouching only made the smaller man all too aware of the other's incredible stature. They were still the base-coat chrome, though... Would Jamison have them painted? A sudden spur dug into Lucio's side and jolted him up from the bed. He let the throw drop to the floor as he crossed to his desk and rummaged around the drawers with intent. Jamison watched as he walked back with what looked like an oddly-shaped strip of paper. The Junker realized too late that said paper was a sticker as Lucio had shucked off the packaging and slapped the adhesive side to the smooth length of his new prosthetic arm. It was one of his own brand stickers that he gave to younger fans when he met them on the street, but he figured it was something fun for Jamison to use. It was his little frog logo with the headphones in neon green. Upon seeing it, the Junker laughed heartily... Honestly, the shrill chortle was starting to grow on him.

"Well, ta, then. Was gonna paint it er somethin' but that works." Lucio offered a toothy grin that was far too wide- but all genuine- in response. "Ya cheeky dag. Callin' **me** a dork, were ya?"

"Well, it takes one to know one, right?" They laughed at each other... and then it hit him... One answer that finally satisfied him... just as much as it terrified him. The suddenness of it made him not realize at all when his smile dropped and he stared blankly at a very confused Jamison who cocked his brow and let his own lips drop in sideways wonder. It didn't take long for him to understand, though... And... for once... the voice in his head, the one that chastised him violently, put him down venomously and denied him things permitted to a normal man, said something almost... like encouragement.

' _You've already fucked this up beyond redemption, you drongo. Might as well._ ' Should he really start listening to it **now**? Did **not** listening to it even yield good results? He let himself focus on the other and there was something in his expression, the tiny wince in his eyes. Lucio laughed and that wince became a silent plea. ' _Please, please PLEASE do it for me._ ' The laugh and subsequent wide, nervous smile was entirely mirrored, though probably looked a lot less adorable on Jamison. Fuck... He needed to save himself from this awkward hell. His tone shifted to that of a tease, his lower lip poking out. "Aww. Do I need to go first again?" Boy, did the Brazilian take the bait. With a competitive scowl, the smaller took a tight hold on Jamison's pliant collar and yanked him down. They met half-way without hesitation in terms of motion, but the actual kiss was far less fluid. Teeth met teeth momentarily and they adjusted their position two or three times before they remembered what their teenage years had taught them with embarrassment. Even when they got back into it like they HAD actually kissed another human being prior to their mid twenties, the contact didn't last nearly as long as one of them would've liked. Of course Lucio was a little more chaste in that regard. Jamison should've expected that... still.

"Heh," Lucio seemed to almost not believe what had just happened, still holding the fabric tightly in his right hand. "Not, uh... Not sure where I was going with this," he admitted. The other shrugged and prodded forward again. This time, he leaned over the smaller man and was a little more forceful. He wouldn't push for anything beyond lip-to-lip, but little bit of edge to it made him at least a little more complacent. His lips were so soft... So smooth and warm... He hadn't had anything quite like it , his first being against chapped skin and others down the line being similar or caked in some form of cosmetic that only smeared and made his face feel gross afterwards. By a massive margin, practically a canyon, it was the best kiss he'd ever experienced.

Maybe for Lucio wasn't as enjoyable. At that thought, he pulled back with the intent of breaking the contact, but felt his heart leap when the other chased him a bit before letting them pull apart. Shyness in the smaller came back with a vengeance, though, and the Brazilian got to his feet. He stumbled as he backed up, almost falling over the throw blanket with a laugh. "Uh, heh... C-can we, um... Meet up again later? To talk about all this, I mean. My nerves are too shot for anything else right now." All of that was expressed with an undertone of laugher and a complete lack of composure that looked far too good on him. As much as Jamison would've loved to milk it, he supposed he'd done enough for the time being.

"Yeh. Prolly got somethin' to do, anyway." He crossed the floor, slipping past the other in an awkward shuffle with wide smiles and absolutely flaming cheeks. Jamison managed to slip out the door backwards and close it with surprising efficiency. Any more awkwardness would've killed him, he thought... That was until he saw the little blue light in the keypad next to the door... a little eye-ball he'd all but forgotten existed, one that pointedly watched him everywhere he went... seeing everything he did. Athena's voice chimed into the stand-off with an almost insulting sweetness.

"McCree would like to see you in hangar five."

' _Bloody hell._ '

 _AN~ Figured I made everyone wait long enough._


End file.
